


The Tale of Frodo

by yaoiandcoffeeaddict



Series: Frodo of the House of Durin [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Hermaphrodites, Love Triangles, M/M, Mpreg, Some Spoilers, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hidden child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaoiandcoffeeaddict/pseuds/yaoiandcoffeeaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The journey left Bilbo with more than a chest of Troll gold and a ring. He came away from it with a far greater treasure that he attempts to hide and covet with all the fierceness of a dragon. But one can only hide from destiny for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Strange Refugee of Rivendell

**Author's Note:**

> There is some mention of spoilers for the book.

THE STRANGE REFUGEE OF RIVENDELL

Hands deep in soapy water and dishes, Bilbo scarcely noted the sun passing along the horizon until it was at the right position that time of year to nearly blind his eyes with its red-orange brilliance. Then hazel eyes glanced up to momentarily observe the purples that kissed the lush green world through the window and dyed the falls in color. It was beautiful but he missed the way the sun’s last rays had caressed the Shire. The meadow in front of his hobbit hole had transformed into deeper, richer tones and the gentle play of the shadow and light over his mother’s china. 

A soft whining brought Bilbo back from his memories and the hobbit immediately dried his pruning hands and arms before moving to the side of the delicately carved crib near the elaborate elf hearth. “Shhh, shhh. Shhh, my dear Frodo. Da is here.” Practiced hands dipped into the crib and plucked the treasure it contained from its warm embrace. The babe immediately stopped whimpering and opened the startling blue of its eyes and gurgled at its parent before reaching with a strangely hairy and chubby forearm for the glittering fastening of the braided lock of hair on Bilbo’s head.

Bilbo chuckled as he gently removed the hand from its target and expertly opened his shirt to offer a swollen nipple to the hungry babe before he took a seat on the small, simple wooden chair next to a matching simple round table. His beautiful little hobbit boy, the one true treasure he had gotten from his journey. Rosebud lips puckered and sucked with all the fierceness of his two heritages.

“I remember when you were that small,” a voice said behind him and Bilbo let out a small yelp as he covered himself and the nursing child before turning to see who had intruded on his humble kitchen. A mix of both horror and fear froze Bilbo in his place; he opened his mouth to speak and found no words tumbling from his lips. There is all his grey splendor stood Gandalf, the person who had the most means to destroy the fragile world Bilbo had built around him.

Gandalf ignored the hobbit’s pale expression and ventured forth into the room, eyes wondering and fingers touching the odd collection of objects. “Your mother had sent word to me to come and bless you. Having known her since she herself was a babe, I came.” Long fingers lingered on the elfish blade lying on the mantle. “I do not believe this to be the sword I gave you. Quite the burglar you have become, Bilbo Baggins.”

After a moment of silence, Bilbo rose from the chair. “Was there something you wanted Gandalf or are you just here to accuse me of thievery?” 

“My dear hobbit, I mean no harm to you or your child; in fact, my dear Bilbo, I do believe that I offer you a gift.”

“I’m not interested in your fireworks,” Bilbo growled out. 

The wizard chuckled, ignoring the stare that threatened to burn him alive and instead made himself at home, pouring himself a mug of wine from a jug in the pantry before seating himself in the chair Bilbo had just vacated. The Grey Wizard leaned his staff against the tiny table and sipped his wine. 

“And you call me a thief.” 

Gandalf chuckled before setting the mug down and raising his arms out to ask to hold the child. Bilbo just drew his shirt tighter around them. Gandalf sighed as he let his arms fall. “Very well then, I see I will have to tell you exactly why I am here.” The wizard took another swig of the wine before continuing on with his tale. “Let me tell you of the prophesy foretold by the Lady of Lorien on the eve of a new moon seven years ago. A child was born on that September night…” Ice blue eyes pierced Bilbo’s hazel, “…a very unique child born to two whom by nature should never have conceived it but for the fertile dragon blood that splashed a sterile creature of two sexes… the only creature of two sexes that has been in contact with dragon blood to my understanding is you, my dear hobbit.” The blue eyes lowered to gaze upon the hidden bundle. “What a coincidence that I find you nursing a young child.”

Bilbo reaches for the nearest weapon he can find, which happens to be a cheese knife and holds it out in front of him. “I am warning you, Wizard; my child and I have the protection of Lord Elrond. If you have come to rid the world of ‘abomination’ I…”

Blue eyes shot into the line of the old grey hat. “Abomination? My dear Bilbo, I assure you I will never refer to your child as an abomination. He is a miracle, my boy. I imagine he was quite a birthday present.”

Some of the tension left the hobbit’s shoulders but he still held the knife in front of him.

Gandalf sighed again. “What exactly has happened to you, my boy? I thought we were friends.”

“Yes, well I thought hobbits I had known my whole life were my friends until they threw me out of the Shire and I lost my nice, warm hobbit hole,” Bilbo said bitterly. His shoulders shook the more upset he got and the bundle he carried began to voice its displeasure with the stress. The knife slipped from Bilbo’s fingers when the adult hobbit’s sobs found voice. 

Quicker than one would think his age would allow, Gandalf gathered the young hobbit before he collapsed and set him back in the chair. As Bilbo’s eyes blurred, he noted the grey wizard picking up the knife and carrying it to the sink to wash before returning and taking little Frodo from his trembling arms; his dear, sweet little Frodo who Bilbo didn’t regret carrying for a minute despite the fact carrying him led to him losing his family home. Frodo’s cries quieted as chubby hands tangled in the thick hair of the wizard’s beard and brought the end to his mouth.

“I don’t think you’ll want to eat that, lad,” Gandalf warned and pried the child’s hands gently away from his beard as he held the child up closer to get a better look at it. “My, what pretty eyes and skin you have lad. It seems the rumors of elfin blood in the line of Durin might be true after all. They always did have such fair features…” He settled the curious baby back in the crib and then turned his attention on the shaking hobbit by the table. The old wizard knelt down before the distraught being and promised, “On my word, I assure you no harm shall come to the child from my hand or the hand of others if I can prevent it, my friend.”

The shaking subsided somewhat but Bilbo still held his head in his hands, breathing heavy to regain control of himself. Finally, after an age, the breathing evened out and Bilbo reached forward to clasp Gandalf’s shoulder in gratitude. “Thank you, Master Gandalf,” Bilbo finally said, giving his friend the proper respect the hobbit had learned as a lad. 

“No trouble, my boy. Now, my friend, I believe there is much to discuss starting with why you have chosen to seek refuge in Rivendell instead of Erebor. Surely the child’s father…”

“He doesn’t know, nor shall you tell him, Master Gandalf,” Bilbo cut the wizard off sternly, looking back to the crib where chubby hands were reaching for the ceiling. “Besides I seek no charity. I am a librarian to Lord Elrond here and I greatly enjoy my work.”

“And why is that? You know how important family is to Thorin, especially after…” The wizard’s voice trailed off, the pain of mortal death too fresh for the neigh immortal being to utter without regretful thoughts.

“It was because of their death that we came together at all,” Bilbo replied sadly after the room had been in silence for some time. “I doubt we would have come together any other way. I am a simple hobbit lad and he was looking for comfort and found it in my own strange flesh. He may have had no reservations about the deed then but I heard from Balin before the Shire discovered my unnaturalness that King Thorin had set his eyes on a wife. How would he react were I to visit him with a bastard hobbit baby in my arms?” Bilbo gestured to the cradle. “Besides, dwarfs live far longer than us hobbits. Frodo has not aged the same way as other hobbit babes but he may not live as long as his father’s race. Thorin may very well outlive his hobbit family.”

“Frodo….” The Grey Wizard repeated, testing the name on his tongue. “Such an interesting name...” The wizard shook his head, taking in the path of the sun through the small window and took up his staff. “It is getting late, my dear hobbit. I shall call again on the morrow.” 

“Wait, Gandalf… you said there was a prophesy regarding my child?”

Blue-gray eyes swept across the room, taking in every detail. They lingered on the mantle where the elfin blade laid, the small, almost hidden chain around Bilbo’s neck, and the child resting in the cradle. “Nothing to concern yourself with now, my boy. Nothing at all.” 

To Be Continued…

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	2. A Hobbit's Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some spoilers below

A HOBBIT'S ORIGINS

Teary brilliant blue eyes stared up from their pale surroundings as their owner pushed some wounded creature beseechingly forward. “Please, Da?” came the twinkling voice as tears began to flow down round cheeks discolored by mud and scratches. 

Bilbo sighed and looked at his companion who was facing a similar problem from a pair of much older boys. How two elves that were more than twice Bilbo’s age could pull off such a pleading look, Bilbo did not know. The Elvin Lord caught his eyes and shook his head in surrender before taking the creature from the tiny hobbit boy. Doomed; both men were simply doomed to refuse anything from their children. “Very well, let’s take the creature to the hall of healing then…” 

The twins let up a childish cheer. One gathered Frodo in his arms and whirled him around on his shoulders in celebration. Such a sight used to make Bilbo’s heart stop beating but since the time Frodo could toddle the twin elves had been his companions along with their adopted human brother Estel. Keeping the children separated even when punished never worked for very long and they were seldom seen without one another. The only reason why Estel was not in on the rescue of whatever the creature they had brought back was because the youngster was ill with some sort of virus. 

“When he’s better, can we take him to see Estel?” Frodo asked as his wee hobbit feet were set once again on the ground. Clutching one of the twin’s hands, he dragged the pair down the corridor to follow their father.

Bilbo shook his head in amusement as he trailed after them, stopping only when catching sight of himself in a mirror, surprised by the sight. The hobbit sometimes forgot it was over twenty five years since he’d been exiled from his home. Strands of white had started to twist in with the dusty gold of his curls and little wrinkles had begun to crinkle at the corner of his hazel eyes. Though his aging surprised him (as he lived with immortal beings and the passage of time seemed to fly by) he knew he was not aging as he should and he did not know the reason for it. 

Little Frodo too was slowly aging. At over twenty four years of age Frodo should have been a young hobbit man; if the boy were built like other hobbit lads he may have been chasing after the women of the shire at this age but the lad had not yet hit puberty. Likewise his companion Estel had been a child when the dwarves had first come to Rivendell and now the boy had just begun puberty; baby fat had begun to give way to stocky muscle and the boy was nearly as tall as his older Elvin brothers. 

Mayhap it was something in the water. There were tales of magical waters that brought eternal slumber and immortality; perhaps Rivendell’s waterfalls were able to slow the aging process. 

“Never would have taken you for a vain one Master Hobbit,” teased a deep musical voice behind him. 

Bilbo raised his eyebrows and turned to find Erestor behind him, a stack of old scrolls carefully marked at the ends by Bilbo’s own hand for categorization in the elf’s hands. “So says the elf that cannot pass a body of water without checking to see if his braids are in place around his pointy ears,” he teased back before gesturing to the elf’s burden. “What have you got there?”

“History scrolls for young Estel to read while sick in bed.”

“Bah… History? Are those not the same scrolls that called hobbits little humanoid moles that sprang from the dirt?” Bilbo asked with a mischievous smirk. 

Erestor huffed in false indignation. “Well, obviously the elves who wrote these particular scrolls had not much experience with hobbits.”

Bilbo’s grin grew wider. “Yes, well now you do Master Elf so could you write a revision?” 

“How do you know it was my writing?” Erestor asked with an answering grin. 

“Who else but you takes the time to curve each letter in such a flowing manner?” Bilbo returned with a laugh. 

“Very well, Master Hobbit; I shall endeavor to correct the error at some point soon. In the mean time, these shall do to comfort the poor lad as he recovers.” 

Just as the archivist was prepared to leave, Bilbo held up a hand and waved the taller being away in a shoeing motion. “Place those back, Master Erestor. If the lad needs entertaining stories, I will gladly give him some.”

The brunette elf chuckled and inclined his head in acknowledgment, “As you wish, Master Hobbit.” Then the elf turned with all the quickness of a leaf twisting in the wind and was walking back to the great library. 

Bilbo shook head in fondness and walked the route he had taken many times before find his son in Estel’s room. Bilbo knocked on the simple yet beautiful carved golden wood door, waiting until he heard a nasally ‘Come in’ before entering. The young man was propped up in bed by mounds of beautifully embroidered green and yellow pillows that made the lad’s sickly pale skin look even worse. Bilbo couldn’t help but feel sympathetic to the poor boy’s plight. 

“Adar?” the boy asked before turning his fever-dulled grey eyes to the door and spotting the visitor.

“No lad, it’s just old Bilbo come to keep you entertained,” Bilbo stated as he approached the tall chair by the bed and climbed it with practice ease.

“Frodo’s not with you, is he? I don’t want him to get sick,” came the croaky reply.

Bilbo shook his head, “No, Lad. He’s been a ‘venturing with your brothers mostly likely to keep him from coming here.”

“Good. I don’t want him to die too from this.”

“Hah! Die? Who said anything about dying, my lad? Your father is one of the most respected healers in Middle Earth and your fever has gone down quite a lot since last eve. You were nigh delirious with fever then and you are well enough to understand me now. Now, no more talk of nonsense. I am here to tell you one of my famous stories. Now, which one would you like to hear? The Tiny Hobbit of Whitforrows, The Terrible Troll of Took Fields, The Amulet of Amethyst Boffin…?”

“Can… can you tell me a different story?” the human boy inquired.

Bilbo inclined his head. “Sure, Lad. What story would you like to hear?”

“I remember you first coming here long ago with a strange group of little people.” Bilbo froze in surprise and horror, not expecting such a comment. “They sang strange songs and had the strangest fur on their chins that they did in intricate braids like hair. They weren’t other hobbits were they?” 

“No. No lad, they were not,” Bilbo replied softly. 

“Were they humans like me?”

Bilbo smiled sadly. “No, my lad. They were dwarves.”

“Oh…” Estel replied. After several seconds of silence, the lad finally asked the question Bilbo was dreading being asked. “Was one of them Frodo’s Adar?” Estel asked with interest.

Bilbo sighed. As every now and again, Frodo would ask about his father so Bilbo had finally told him a month ago that his father had been a dwarf. Though he would not share the information with everyone, it was silly to think Frodo would keep it from his best friend. “Yes.” 

“Can you tell me about the quest you went on with him?”

For several moments, Bilbo debated how he was to answer such a question. Finally he said, “If I am to tell you, I ask you not to repeat it even to Frodo. There are certain things that I will tell him in time, but he is not ready to know.” 

“I promise,” the boy agreed, though Bilbo highly doubted the lad would keep the promise for very long.

“Very well… hmmm; how shall I begin? Perhaps I should begin with how I first met Frodo’s Adar. Many seasons ago, ‘in a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell; this was a hobbit-hole, and that means warmth, food, and all the comforts of home…’ ” Bilbo began with a tragic and fond smile as he recalled his wonderful family home. “Now this hobbit was a highly respected hobbit, you see, as he came from a respectable family and owned a beautiful piece of the Shire called Bag End…”

“On one fine morning of no real abnormality, this fine hobbit was sitting in the garden smoking his pipe as many hobbits were wont to do when a shadow fell across him…”

[The two paragraphs above contained paraphrase from The Hobbit by Tolkien]

xxxxoooxxxx

Thirty years later…

Estel chuckled as the small hands around his waist wrapped around him even tighter the closer they came on the horse to their hilly destination. A month ago, Frodo had reached his majority and learned of the story Estel had been told as a teenager. As a present, Estel had planned to take him in secret to Bilbo’s family home in the shire or what remained of it. The only two who knew where they had gone were Elladan and Elrohir. 

“Is… is that it, Estel?” Frodo asked from behind him, blue eyes peaking over Estel’s shoulder in wonder. 

“According to the map, aye,” Estel replied with an excited grin as he turned back to his riding companion. “Do you have your Da’s key?”

Frodo nodded, holding up the aged metal key around his neck on the metal chain he had placed it on. He’d taken it from his parent’s box of memories the night before they had left. 

“With any luck, your Da’s home is still there.” With that said, Estel urged the horse out of the forest and down the dirt road of the Shire. The sun was at its highest so most of the Shire’s residents were out in the fields, irrigating water and collecting the wild fruit that grew in their gardens and through the meadow.

Both visitors were in awe by the simple beauty they had been told about since they were lads. As they drew closer, the citizens of the small village suddenly became aware of their presence. Mothers suddenly rushed forward and drew their children close and behind them, glaring at the newcomers as though the pair were there to snatch the tiny beings from their mother’s arms. 

One lone older hobbit ventured forth. “Welcome to the Shire. I’m Paladin Took. It’s not often we have visitors.”

Estel nodded in acknowledgment. “I am Estel and this is my companion Frodo.”

Frodo gave a small smile behind Estel to Paladin who gave him one in return. “You have such bright blue eyes for a hobbit lad and you’re so thin. You need to get a proper hobbit figure,” Paladin remarked as he pulled an apple from his bag and tossed it to Frodo who caught it with all the practiced ease of an Elf. “So how can I help you two?”

“We are looking for a home called Bag End. Can you show us the way?” Frodo asked. 

The smile instantly vanished. “If you are looking for Bilbo Baggins, as I’ve told the dwarves he no longer resides here and we don’t know where he went. Maybe you should check with the wizard who keeps up his garden every now and then.”

Estel exchanged a glance with Frodo, who was deeply surprised by this revelation. “We are friends of his descendant. We simply have come to inspect and air the place out.”

Frodo held up the key in confirmation. 

The smile returned though the eyes twinkled with suspicion. “Ah... in that case, it’s right in the middle of the Shire under the largest hill with the old, faded fence. You can’t miss it and give my regards to my mystery cousin would you?”

Estel nodded in acknowledgement and urged the horse onward to the large hill and soon reached the place the hobbit had described. He dismounted and led his horse behind the fence into the almost overgrown garden before shutting the gate and helping Frodo dismount. Despite the garden’s growth, the place on the outside looked well kept and very much intact. Together, they ascended the worn stone path to the beautiful oval door.

Frodo’s hands were shaking as he took the key from around his neck off and unlocked the simple lock. Other than the layers of dust and small spider webs, the place looked well kept as inside as it had on the outside. The two companions ventured inside (Estel having to duck to do so) and shut the small door behind them. 

For a while, neither said anything as they took in the strange environment around them. “It’s… it’s… so different from back home,” Frodo finally spoke. “But it feels like… like it was waiting for us.”

Indeed, that was the general feeling of the place especially when certain things were left as though they had been just laid there by Bilbo to be picked up later. Something glittered on a dusty chair under the light of the sun coming from the window and Frodo, quick as a rabbit hiding from a fox, set upon it and came away with a dusty golden bead. 

“What’s this?” the hobbit asked, turning the strange bead over in his hand. It had a strange fastening on the side. 

Estel came over and held out a hand to look it over himself. He dusted it off and turned it over in his hand, recognition lighting his eyes. After awhile he said, “It looks like one of the gold beads I saw on a dwarf’s beard as a lad.”

“Could it be…,” Frodo’s voice trailed off. 

Estel shrugged, knowing Frodo was asking if the bead had belonged to his Adar. “It might have. But there were many dwarves in the company.” Estel inclined his head and stared at Frodo’s wavy locks. “Do you want me to put it in your hair? It looks long enough.”

Frodo nodded with eagerness, turning around for Estel to braid the bead into the dark locks. As the man’s fingers worked, Frodo asked, “So how long are we going to stay here?”

“As long as you want,” Estel replied with a smile. “Or however long it is until our parents send the guards to retrieve us.”

Frodo laughed as Estel finished the braid. “Okay then. Let’s clean this place up. We’ll be staying for awhile after all.”

To Be Continued…

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	3. The Visitors of Bag End

THE VISITORS OF BAG END

Peregrin Took had always been a curious hobbit. With his cousin, Merry, they had forever been getting into mischief and exploring since the time they could crawl. The respectable gathering and farming lifestyle of a hobbit was boring to say the least and the two had always longed for an adventure.

Instead of helping to gather some of the crops that morning, they had been exploring the woods for elves. It was only much later, when the sun had begun to set that the two had abandoned their search. Following the familiar path home, the two were surprised to see only three of four hobbit men still out in the fields when they returned. Normally there would still be half the farmers of the Shire out planting and harvesting on such a nice early summer night but nothing appeared to be amiss so the two trudged ahead on the well-known dirt road, stopping only when seeing one of the gardeners carrying a basket of apples.

As he often did, Pippin stepped in front of the lad’s path and plucked an apple from the basket, biting into it before the hobbit could protest. “Mighty fine apples there, Mr. Gamgee,” said Pip rudely around a mouth full of apple. “Mighty fine.” 

As Pip reached for another, the gardener moved the basket out of his reach and inadvertently into Merry’s who took up an apple himself and went on munching merrily away. 

“Now see here, Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck, these apples are not for you!” Samwise Gamgee protested. 

“Who might they be for then?” Pippin asked as he swallowed another mouthful of apple. 

“We’ve some visitors and the Shire is right fixed to give them a proper hobbit welcome.” Oh, happy day- a party!

“Visitors?” Merry repeated. “It’s not one or two of the Sackville-Baggins, is it? They’re the least friendly hobbits I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“Or a dwarf,” Pippin said wrinkling his nose in distaste. As a young lad, he had been set upon by a balding dwarf named Dwalin one day while he’d been in the Old Forest playing in the trees. Seeing a strange creature below him, he had wanted to know more about it. When the boy had introduced himself, the dwarf had immediately trapped him in a bear hug and set him upon his shoulders. It had been fun at first but quickly grew boring. The poor creature’s brain must have been addled because he kept calling Pippin ‘Little Bilbo’ and saying he had to bring him to his king. Only the threats of a good thrashing from his mother’s broom had made the dwarf release him. Pip had kept clear of the second dwarf that visited a good ten years later as a result.

“Can’t see anyone in the Shire giving a party for one of their lot,” Merry argued as he caught eyes with his cousin. 

“Perhaps the Grey Wizard, then?” Pippin very much liked the strange wizard who often gave the two sugary sweets and wooden toys despite their age if they helped him tend to some small errands. 

Merry perked up. 

“No, Sir,” Samwise replied, ignoring the disappointment on the two’s faces. “It’s a strange man and hobbit come to clean up Bag End.”

Merry snorted. “Come to tend to our mysterious cousin’s garden… I don’t see why they don’t just hire a gardener like yourself, Mr. Gamgee. The garden isn’t even overrun this time!” 

Samwise shook his blond head. “Actually, I heard from my gaffer that that they have the key and are cleaning up the inside for a change.”

The two well-off hobbits paused, apples half-way to their lips. Now this was a first. No one had ever had the key to the place and no one living in the Shire had ever set foot inside the large castle of a hobbit-hole since before the two were born. As lads, the two had jumped the small fence and peaked in through the windows to look inside many times before their mothers would catch them and shoe them away. When they had asked who had lived there, they had been told an old cousin who had gone on a journey far away but had probably long since passed away. It was only through the wizard that they learned the Hobbit’s name had been Bilbo Baggins but had not been told much about him or how he had acquired such unusual friends. 

“Well this is the first time I’ve heard of tendin’ to Bag End’s insides,” Merry finally said, eyes gleaming in mischief and excitement as he tossed his half-eaten apple carelessly over his shoulder. “I reckon this mystery hobbit has a story to tell. Come, let’s go meet ‘um before the party.” Looping arms with his cousin, they went at a jog up the road to Bag End, ignoring the calls of Young Gamgee behind them. 

Hoping over the fence on the opposite side of the gate with practiced ease, the two made for the windows first as stealthily as their furry feet would allow, only finding their path cut off by a large brown creature that looked like a huge pony! 

Both hobbits fell onto their bottoms in surprise. When the creature merely snorted as them and turned to eat some plant growing under the windowsill, Merry whispered, “I think that’s a horse, Pip.”

“Like the one Bandobras Took rode?” Pip said with quiet awe. “I’ve never seen a horse afore! Even Gandalf had a pony…” Before Merry could advice him against it, Pip was up and running his hands reverently through the rich brown fur. The horse didn’t seem to mind; it just kept on eating. “Look at this, Merry; it likes me!”

Before Merry could respond, there was a sword tip against his chest as one of the tallest beings he had ever seen glared threateningly down at him as a strange, unusually tall hobbit of five feet held a similar weapon to Pip. Or at least Merry thought it was a hobbit judging by the bare furry feet (though those feet were rather small for someone so tall). Perhaps a hobbit lass with short hair then? And what was that strange ornament in it? “What a fine welcome this is,” Merry said, looking up at the human whose strange grey eyes were glaring at him.

“What welcome were you expecting when you decided to spy on us?” came the man’s reply. 

“We were just curious to see if the rumors were true is all.”

“Rumors?” repeated the soft, bell-like voice of the tall hobbit turning halfway towards Merry so he could see the face in profile. If that weren’t a lass’s pretty face, Merry would eat one of crazy Uncle Giber’s mud-pies, worms and all. 

“Well nobody’s ever been in Bag End since before we were born, Miss,” Pippin explained.

“Miss?” the hobbit repeated, blue eyes large and creamy cheeks flushed. “I’m a lad!”

Lad? Well at least Merry hadn’t said his gambling aloud! “In that case, I beg your pardon, my good sir. I’m Meriadoc Brandybuck and that there is my cousin Peregrin Took you’re pointin’ that sword at.”

“Took?” the hobbit lad/lass repeated with a strange stare in their eye as they locked gazes with the man.

“At your service,” Pip offered with a small bow and impish smirk.

After some silent conversation between the two, their weapons were lowered and sheathed in such a practiced manner Merry and Pip both wondered how and where the two had lived that they were trained in swords. 

“Now that we’ve introduced ourselves, might we trouble you for your names?” Merry asked, observing the hobbit and his companion.

The man gave a small smile. “I am Estel and this is my companion Frodo.”

“Estel?” Merry repeated, testing the strange name on his tongue. Frodo was a perfectly respectable male hobbit name but the name Estel sounded strange for a child of man. 

“Yes. One of my ancestors was an elf,” the man admitted. 

Ah. So that was the reason for the strange name then. 

“An elf?” Pip repeated, dirty blond curls with glee. “We’ve never met an elf before or any one with the blood. Unless of course you were to count the two of us as the Took lines are said to have a splash of fairy blood in it but we don’t know if our ancestors were referring to elves or some other creature long extinct. 

“Are you always this talkative with strangers?” the human, Estel, asked with amusement as his companion chuckled. 

“Yes. The Shire says we are a bit odd,” Merry admitted as he rose slowly to his feet. 

“Would you like to come inside?” the hobbit, Frodo, asked as he gestured to the large hobbit-hole behind him. 

“Could we?” Pippin asked, nearly bouncing on his large, furry toes in excitement. 

Frodo laughed a soft musical laugh and Merry absently wondered if the lad might have some elf blood in him as well. If nothing else, it would explain the slim figure and pale skin. The hobbit gave a follow-me gesture and the others complied, following him up the worn stone path to the front door. 

The inside was warm from a fire that the pair had probably just started in the huge sitting room and the two young hobbits could smell the scent of pine nuts being roasted for dinner. The dust had been cleared away and some of the windows were cracked to let in some fresh air. A couple of brooms sat in the corner of the entry hall. 

“We’ve forever wanted to see the inside of Bag End. It’s always been this great big mysteriously empty home abandoned in some strange fashion on top of the hill. We used to whisper it was haunted but we sat out here all day once and saw no ghosts… wasted the whole day that could have been used for exploring,” Pippin babbled as he wiped his feet on the old, worn rug by the door that looked like something had taken a small bite out of it before continuing inside.

Then, he was anywhere and everywhere, touching and remarking on this and that and shouting with epiphany when he had finally figured out what something he could only guess after seeing it through the window was for or what material it had been made of. Merry stayed with their highly amused hosts, observing their mannerisms and the way the two would move together in sync with each other and with grace like flowing water, which was almost unheard of in the earthy life of the hobbits of the Shire. 

Merry ignored the call of “You have to see this!” for the fifth time since they’d entered as he moved into a chair by the fire, brought out his pipe and stuffed it. “Would you like a smoke?” he offered his hosts who shook their heads but thanked him for the offer. 

Frodo disappeared for a few moments and reappeared with a nice tray of tea and a set that looked so amusingly small in the hands of his companion Estel. The promise of a good cup of tea and smoke brought Pip back into the room and soon the four were also indulging in the roasted pine nuts. Normally such good tea would at least mean a companion biscuit, cake, or tiny sandwich, but this would do for now. Merry would have said the two were eating lightly before the party but looking at their figures, the two may have been expecting this to be their meal. Were they in for a surprise!

“So how long are you two planning on staying long?” Pip asked around his little tea cup. 

Estel and Frodo exchanged another mysterious glance. “We have not yet decided on that yet,” Frodo answered as he delicately nibbled on a nut. No wonder the lad was so skinny! A few weeks in the Shire should fix him with a good appetite. 

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Pip was about to ask next. 

“I’ll tend to it,” Estel replied as he left the comfort of his chair. A few seconds later, Pip’s Father followed Estel in. 

“Ah, so this is where you lads have gone off to today,” Paladin Took commented as he took in the sight of the two of them lounging around. Paladin’s warm brown eyes then flew to the hobbit delicately nibbling on another pine nut. “The Shire doesn’t often get visitors, so we have planned a small celebration in your honor. So, I’m here to escort you two to the party tree.”

“A party for us?” Frodo asked, his large blue eyes even wider in shock. “Why?”

“I told you we don’t get many visitors and this is the first we’re meeting a human and a strange hobbit in generations. Besides, if there is one thing you will learn about us here in the Shire, it is we don’t really need a reason to celebrate!” 

Merry and Pip chuckled. 

Estel turned to Frodo, who shrugged in bewilderment. “Okay… let us put out the fire and lock up and then we’ll be on our way,” Estel agreed as he went to tend to the fireplace. 

The party tree had never seen so beautiful and full of people as that night! Paper lanterns hung on strings from strong oak branches and people were dispersed around it for nigh forty meters on each side with barrels and barrels of ale sporadically placed with a few tables of fruit and cakes here and there. Likely the village hadn’t any time to prepare any meat dishes.

The next few hours past in a blur, where the drinks just would not stop flowing and the two newcomers, despite their heights were swallowed up by the residents of the Shire who hugged and ushered them here and there so it was hard to pick out the strange heads in the crowd. 

Merry had only had about two mugs of ale when overheard one of the elder hobbits in the corner. “From what I remember of my youth the lad does look a little like old Bilbo,” one elderly lady commented.

“That’s a Took chin if I ever saw one!” cried another whose cheeks were so rosy she looked sunburned.

“Young Frodo could be the child of the unnatural child.”

Unnatural? What were they talking about? 

“Or he could be the last child of old Bilbo. I’ve heard of some hobbits having them until they were my age!” cried Aunt Petunia, who was seventy-five years of age. Merry shuddered at the thought.

“Still, it weren’t right what they did to that poor lad. I know it didn’t sit right with people a male hobbit getting pregnant from a dwarf, but being run out of town by threats from Farmer Cotton, the Smallburrows, and Ropers when your belly is big with child is horrible!”

What? How much had the old ladies had to drink?

“Well, I heard he had both sexes. Can you believe that?” Two sexes? Merry had heard of that before. “Looking at that Frodo I wonder if he is the same…”

“And he didn’t give us a last name. Looks like he’s part elf if you ask me rather than part dwarf…”

Merry shook his head of the strange thoughts and tried to enjoy the rest of the night. But every now and again, his eyes did wander to the young hobbit and wonder. 

To Be Continued…

PLEASE COMMENT!


	4. My Dear, Sweet Frodo

MY DEAR, SWEET FRODO

Brilliant blue eyes stared out the kitchen window, watching as the tall figure disappeared down the dirt path without looking back. When the last inch of Estel vanished, Frodo returned to kneading the dough he’d been preparing. The lad couldn’t help but sigh when he saw he’d kneaded it to the point where it was almost useless for anything but biscuits. 

Two weeks… it had been nigh half a month since they had been cleaning and sharing this home together and Estel had not so much as kissed him! 

Frodo sighed again and rolled the dough back into a ball.

Since they were children, Frodo had had a crush on his best friend and he thought Estel felt the same. The Halfling had just reached his sexual maturity in both his sexes not quite two months ago and when Estel had revealed this trip, Frodo had thought it meant he was taking him away to do something romantic. Yet so far this trip had been more of adventure than romance. 

Really, it wasn’t even that much of an adventure. While Frodo did enjoy finally seeing his ancestral home and learning the ways of his Da’s people, there was none of the epic, heart-pounding adventure that his Da and Adar had. The night of his majority, Da had confided in him how they had come together to make him- how his Adar had lost his leg and nearly his life in battle along with precious family and how Da had kissed his shame and sorrow away for a few precious moments. Da had said there had been a tragic magic between them that night but there had been love.

The romantic sort of love that was spouted and raved about in over half the books and poems in Rivendell’s library! While even a brief love like his parents would do, the hobbit wanted a love like that between Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian, Lady Adele and Mister Calanon, Mister Erestor and Mister Glorfindel.

True Frodo had never wanted for familial love growing up back home. Lord Elrond and Mister Erestor had been doting uncles, the Twins and Estel had been the best playmates one could ask for, and Grandfather Gandalf had been always there when he needed him with some sweet or advice following any childish woe no matter how little. But, he had no true romantic love until now. 

Frodo rolled the dough into quarter moon shapes and set them on a butter-greased tray before putting them in the iron oven. After washing his hands, his fingers found the careful braid in his hair and played with the golden bead at the end of it. He had thought that Estel braiding this into his hair had been a subtle proposal. Among elves and among dwarves (or so his Da said) the act of braiding another’s hair was seen as a thing only between family and lovers. So the question now really was what did Estel see them as?

Then again, perhaps Estel was wondering the same thing and was waiting for Frodo to invite him to bed. A furious blush colored Frodo’s face at the thought of greeting Estel in only a towel or some other sort of undress. Frodo didn’t think he could be so bold as to do any of that!

Leaning against the entryway of the kitchen with a sigh of bewilderment, Frodo was startled to be shaken from his thoughts only a moment later by a loud knock on the front door. 

It was the Took gardener, Sam Gamgee on the other side; clutching an old basket of some sort with such tight knuckled fists that Frodo thought he would break the wicker handle. Dark grey-green eyes looked up and met his own with a tentative smile. “Ah, good morning Frodo.”

“Good morning, Sam,” Frodo returned with a small smile of his own. “What brings you here on such a fine day?”

“Well… I…,” a dark flush spread over the sun-kissed cheeks, “well, our family apple tree has produced just so many apples so early this season and seeing as you were eating mainly apples at the welcome party I figured you might like some.” 

“Oh, that’s so kind of you,” Frodo said, accepting the heavy basket from the shorter hobbit whose blush had spread to his ears the poor shy fellow. “Would you like to come inside? I have some fresh moon rolls baking in the oven if you would like some.”

The blonde hobbit nodded enthusiastically. “I would like that very much.”

Frodo waved him in and latched the door shut behind him. Together the two made their way to the cozy kitchen where the smell indicated the rolls were just about ready to come out. Fetching an old leather mitt, Frodo pulled the tray out and set it on top the stove to cool as Sam took a walk about the kitchen and dining room. 

As Frodo set out the butter on the dining table, he heard Sam exclaim, “I’ve never been inside such a grand place before, Frodo. Such finely crafted moldings and such outsized furniture… my, the Baggins must have been richer than the Tooks. And larger too or else have been entertaining a lot with such a large home! I’m guessing cleaning this place up is taking a bit of time.” 

“Is it really a large home?” Frodo asked absently as he set half the cooling rolls on a nice yellow and white plate and placed it on the table not seeing Samwise’s face until after he had turned around. “Sam?”

“Just where have you been living that this place doesn’t seem large to you?” Sam asked with a curious expression. 

“Oh, just here and there. Should I make some tea to go with our fine meal of apples and rolls?” Frodo evaded as he marched back into the kitchen and pulled out the kettle without waiting for approval.

Sam came behind him as Frodo filled the kettle with water. Frodo tried to will his body not to tense up but he was almost instantly intimidated. Though Frodo had a good four inches over Sam, the other hobbit was almost twice his weight. “I beg your pardon, Frodo, but when you say here and there… what places are you talking about?”

As Frodo scrambled for some way to reply, there was another knocking at the front door, far more insistently than Sam’s had been and louder. “Open up, you cowardly hobbit!” That was not a voice Frodo recognized. When neither Sam no Frodo made a move to answer within the space of a minute, the iron handle began to shake and some loud mutterings could be heard outside. 

“I tell you, he is not home.”

“And I tell you I smell some fine baking coming from inside. My old mind may be addled but my nose is not!”

Sam was the first to move and it was to the windows that he fled, craning his neck to get a look at whoever was on the other side. “I can’t see them well, Frodo. There is a patch of ivy blocking my view, but they look too tall to be hobbits.”

Frodo moved into the sitting room to get his father’s sword. The blade was the same cool grey it always was, no hint of blue in sight but that did not mean whoever was on the other side of that door did not mean him harm. Frodo motioned Sam to follow him.

“Is that a real sword? What are you going to do with that?” Sam whispered, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. 

“Keep quiet, Sam,” Frodo whispered back. “Move behind that door and when I give the signal, open it.”

“But how…”

“Do as I say Sam,” Frodo ordered and Sam immediately complied, taking a place at the moving door’s lock. 

Frodo took the Elvin fighting stance he’d been instructed in with his sword out an inch or two in front of him. ‘Three, two, one… “NOW!” Frodo shouted and Sam sprang the lock free and twisted the iron handle. 

The two taller beings on the outside tumbled inside in an amusing heap on the entryway floor. For several moments, the pair of newcomers were stunned but the one with a strange hat was the first to recover. Helping his companion up, the creature barely blinked at the sight of a young hobbit with a sword in his face. 

Frodo’s stance faltered slightly when he realized the two were dwarves. Were these two graying creatures from his Da’s tales? Could one of them be his Adar Thorin? Frodo looked down and was slightly disappointed to find both limbs intact on the two in front of him.

“Put that away before you poke your eye out, lad,” the bald one said as he rose to his feet before turning his eyes on Sam. “Oh, Bilbo, it’s good to see you! My, you’re looking quite spry for your age.”

“That’s not Bilbo, Dwalin,” the pointed-hat dwarf corrected with a long exasperated sigh. “He looks nothin’ like ‘im but for the fact that he’s a hobbit. Besides, Bilbo would be nigh ancient remember?”

“Aye, I remember, Bofur,” Dwalin replied, scratching along the nasty-looking scar on his head before fingering his beard. “I never said my eyes were good either; I only saw the coloring of his blond head.” Bofur gave another heavy sigh.

Frodo couldn’t stop the small chuckle from escaping as he sheathed his sword and hung it on his belt just in case. Though Dwalin and Bofur had been quite good friends with Frodo’s Da in the tales, Frodo wanted to be sure of their identities before he put his weapon away. 

Bofur’s dark gaze was suddenly sharply fixed on Frodo and the sword. “You must be Bilbo’s descendant. My, you look quite a bit like ‘im. You ‘ave his chin, lips and cheeks you do but your coloring… it reminds me of something.”

“It reminds me of Kili,” Dwalin voiced, his arms spread out and he moved forward and wrapped Frodo in an tight embrace before lifting him off his feet and twirling him around. “It’s so good to meet Bilbo’s little lad!”

“Kili? Really Dwalin, I don’t know how your mind comes up with such things. If I didn’t come with you you’d probably kidnap all the hobbits in the Shire and bring ‘em home to Erebor. ‘Sides, he’s probably his grandson, Dwalin,” Bofur corrected. “Is your grandfather back from his other adventures, my boy?”

“Actually… I am Bilbo’s son,” Frodo admitted, forgetting the still figure of a hobbit in the corner. Dwalin put him back on the ground. “Frodo Baggins, at your service.”

“I told you so!” Dwalin exclaimed to his companion and reached out to clasp Frodo’s shoulder. “Where’s your Papa then?” Dwalin was scanning the room with narrowed eyes what was mostly an attempt to spot another person in the shadows.

Frodo shook his head. “My Da’s not here.”

“He didna pass over, did he?” Bofur asked sadly. 

“No, he’s quite well for his age.”

“Are those rolls I smell?” Dwalin suddenly announced as he released the young hobbit and ventured forth as if he owned the place. Finding the rolls easily, despite his bad eye sight, he proceeded to stuff the warm goodies in his mouth fistfuls at a time, barely even taking the time to butter them. 

Bofur followed his lead, picking up a warm roll from the tray and setting the filled kettle to a boil. “Ah, reminds me of happier times I tell you,” he remarked as he tore off half the roll with his teeth and swallowed. “‘Ave we got any cheese?”

“Pantry’s likely still a door over and knowing Bilbo filled to the rafters it is!” Dwalin mumbled around a roll he had stuffed in his mouth.

“Good point my friend,” Bofur replied and hurried to the pantry where he began pulling cheese out by the wedges.

“Ah… Mr. Frodo,” Sam said behind him. “What is going on?” 

“I don’t know, Sam,” Frodo said back, completely missing the honorary that had been tacked onto his name. “I forget what Grandfather said about dwarf hospitality.”

“Did you bake these rolls, lad?” Bofur asked as he set the cheese upon a serving plate on the table and grabbed the roll Dwalin had been reaching for.

“Um, yes?” Frodo replied, eyes wide in fascination. He had thought the hobbits of the Shire ate the greatest amount of food he’d ever seen, but he was now he had to give the title over to the Dwarfs. 

“They’re good lad, very thick and rich,” Bofur complimented. “Are there any more for your dear Uncles?”

“I suppose I could make some more…”

“There’s a good lad, lookin’ after his elderly Uncles,” Dwalin praised him.

“Oi, who you callin’ elderly?!” Bofur demanded with a sharp whack on Dwalin’s shoulder. The sound vibrated off the walls but the dwarf showed no sign of pain, even a wince. 

“Oh, I suppose that’s flour in your beard and not grey?” Dwalin returned with an uproarious laugh. 

“What would you know about the color of my beard anyway? You can barely see past the nose on your face!” 

Dwalin simply snorted. “I see color well enough; it is detail that is hard to read.”

“I’ll go tend to the rolls,” Frodo said, backing away as the two resorted to petty squabbling, nearly running into Sam who was frozen behind him. 

“Forget the rolls, Frodo,” a new, more familiar voice announced. Frodo’s eyes sparkled in joy as he turned to see Grandfather Gandalf in the doorway to the dining room. But Frodo’s joy quickly faded when he saw the look in his eye- disappointment. 

“Ah, wizard, know the lad do you?” Bofur asked as he cut another large wedge of cheese from the cheddar wheel. 

“Yes, my old friend,” Gandalf acknowledged before stretching out a beckoning hand. “Frodo, I would have a word with you alone.” 

With eyes downcast like a chastised child, Frodo moved to follow his instruction and was stopped by a large, rough hand on his bony wrist. “Alone? Nonsense,” Dwalin grumbled as he let go of the boy’s wrist before smoothing some crumbs from his long blue-black beard. “I’m sure whatever you have to say to the lad you can say to us.”

“Some things still remain private even among friends,” Gandalf evaded before turning piercing eyes upon the other hobbit in the room. “Speaking of friends, I do not believe we’ve been introduced.”

“I… I’m Sam…Samwise Gam…Gamgee, Master Gandalf,” Sam stuttered. 

Gandalf stroked his chin as a memory of some sort passed in front of his eyes. “Ah, that’s right. I remember you as a lad asking me about herbs and elves as you stood beside the fence. Always curious but never very brave.”

“Did I? Can’t say I recall, Sir.”

“Just as well… perhaps it’s time for you to be on your way, lad?”

“I…” Sam’s grey-green gaze met Frodo’s and held with a strange expression. “Will you be alright, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo smiled tentatively at the question though surprised at his companion’s concern. “Yes, Sam. I think we shall have our meal together another time.”

Sam smiled a little back before turning on his heel and fleeing the house. 

“Come, Frodo,” Gandalf ordered, drawing the young hobbit away from the table of the two dwarfs who were still trying to put the pantry bare and into an old bedroom. Once the door was closed, the wizard rounded on him with such fury that the old wizard’s grey hair was puffing out behind him. “Where is Estel?” he hissed out.

Frodo took two steps away, his large blue eyes even larger in anxiety. “He’s in Took’s field, helping to build a fence.”

“Just what were you two thinking leaving the safety of Rivendell and coming here of all places?”

“Well… I’d always wanted to see Bag End and the Shire and since I reached my majority…”

Gandalf cut him off, “You think being mature in body means you would be able to handle yourselves out in the world among all manner of evil creatures between Rivendell and here?”

“Um… well, we did. We both have done border patrol in Rivendell before.”

“And you think you can deal with all the evil the world has to offer at a time when its forces are amassing?”

“There were barely any orcs on our way here,” Frodo argued.

“And here is where you lovers chose to make your cozy little nest; this den of narrow-minded fools and snakes?”

Frodo ignored the pain in his heart. The two were not lovers no matter how he wished it so. “Everyone has been so kind.”

“That was what Bilbo thought before he was forced to flee his home alone with you in his womb in the middle of the night!” Gandalf shouted, looming into Frodo’s face and causing the hobbit to lean back in instinct before catching himself and finally standing his ground.

“Well, if you did not want me to return, why keep up with the garden?” Frodo argued back, eyes blazing some of his stubborn dwarf tendencies beginning to reveal themselves. 

For a while, both stood glaring at each other before Gandalf finally broke the silence. “I only kept up with the house for your Da’s peace of mind. I never intended for you and Estel to come here. Now, will you come home?”

“We would have been leaving for home tomorrow,” said Estel from behind them. Neither had heard Estel come in, but the room’s door was open behind them.

“We would have?” Frodo pressed, having not been told of this before. “And why is that? Are you so bored of this place already?” ‘And me,’ he thought silently.

“Nothing like that, Frodo. I like the Shire well enough, but I’m afraid I have other duties.”

“Other duties? Like what?” Frodo asked, confused.

“The real reason why I have brought you out here was to spend some time with my best friend before I had to report for duty.” Estel smiled sadly.

“Duty?”

“I have enlisted as a ranger.”

“WHAT!” Frodo cried in anger. His legs felt weak and his heart was pounding painfully in his chest. “How… why…” 

“Oh Spirits save me from the idiocy of youth,” Gandalf muttered.

To Be Continued…

PLEASE COMMENT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!


	5. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is kinda filler that I thought the story wouldn't do without.

GOODBYE

Before light dawned on the Shire, three of the inhabitants of the largest hobbit hole were up and moving. Using the light of the fading fire to see, old leather bags were filled with what provisions hadn’t been emptied into hungry dwarf bellies and personal items. The two dwarfs slumbered on the sitting room couches through the clanking and banging about, only adding a snort here and there in their sleep. 

Frodo barely looked at Estel as he packed his satchels with some of his Da’s personal items to bring home, though the man handed him the occasional item to pack for them. The man, for his part, ignores the silence between them and lays a comforting hand or two on Frodo’s shoulders as they pack. As dawn breaks, they begin to saddle their horses though most of their bags go into Gandalf’s cart. 

When Frodo ventures inside past his two sleeping ‘uncles’ to retrieve yet another bag and back, he comes out of the hobbit hole to find Estel and Gandalf in deep, hushed conversation. Curious, Frodo attempts to sneak into their little conspiring circle only to be sighted by the Wizard halfway there. “Frodo, why don’t you wake up those lazy dwarfs? We’ll be leaving soon.” 

“Alright, Grandfather,” Frodo agrees despite the sinking feeling in his gut. Something is not right. What were they talking about? Hopefully, Gandalf was trying to dissuade Estel from his foolish notions of joining the rangers. Surely he could still back out?

Eyeing the broken iron axe handle cradled in Dwalin’s hands like a teddy-bear, Frodo decided to shake Bofur awake first. With a particularly loud snort, the short-bearded dwarf shot up from his sleeping place with a jolt. “I’ll fetch the water!” he shouted, still sleep addled before he blinked his eyes and took in his surroundings. His cry woke Dwalin who proceeded to whack the source of the noise, Bofur, once on the head with his ornate, broken stick. “Oi, what was that for?!” 

“For makin’ a racket!” Dwalin shouted back. “It’s still too early for such things.” Dwalin squinted as he eyed the small sliver of light coming in through the small window. “It’s far too early for a dwarf such as me to leave such a comfortable bed.”

“Tell that to the lad, he’s the one what woke me up,” Bofur grumbled as he slid his hat over his eyes to block the light.

“Go back to bed, lad,” Dwalin mumbled as he too tried to burrow into the couch to return to the land of sleep. 

Frodo shook his head. “It’s time to get up. We’ll be leaving soon.”

Bofur opened one eye and stared at the Halfling in disbelief, “Leave? We’ve only just arrived!”

Dwalin turned over on the couch, complaining, “We can leave later today. My old legs wont wake up until the sun is at its highest; unless there is an army of orcs out there, I’m not moving from my spot.” Loud snoring overtook the room once more.

Frodo was trying to think of a kind way of kicking the two out of bed when two sparks dashed past him and hit both dwarves, causing them to yelp before they stumbled of the couch and rubbed the spots where the sparks had hit. “Get out of bed, you lazy creatures,” Grandfather Gandalf scolded, “Or be left behind.”

“Is that any way to treat old friends, you daft wizard?” Dwalin returned. 

“It is when old friends intend to outstay their hosts,” Gandalf countered with an amused smile.

“And just where are we goin’?” Bofur asked and he fit his hat crooked on the top of his head before rolling up his blanket and placing it into his pack. Before Dwalin could move, Bofur was doing the same to his. “Should I be wearin’ my summer skirt or my long, fur dress?” the short-bearded dwarf joked.

“Whatever one makes you feel the prettiest, Master Bofur,” Gandalf chuckled. “I dare say the elves of Rivendell will be beside themselves with envy at either sight.”

Hearing the name of his childhood home, Frodo was so surprised that he turned his head to Gandalf so fast the muscles of his neck hurt. Just what was Grandfather Gandalf up to? The wizard knew Da didn’t want his companions to find out about what had really happened after their quest. 

“And well they should,” Dwalin agreed with a smile as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Just imagine all that body hair on display and those poor elves can barely grow decent eyebrows!”

“Why are we journeying to Rivendell?” Bofur asked as he doused the dying fire with a handful of flour and closed the metal gate to contain the embers. 

“Because, Master Bofur, that is where our burglar has chosen to take residence.”

Both dwarves stopped what preparation they were doing and turned confused faces to the wizard. “That’s where he’s been? Bilbo’s been living with the Elves after all that complaining about missing the comforts of his nice hobbit hole?” Dwalin asked with surprise.

“Aye, it was my kettle this and my bed that. Now that he’s been adventuring, is the hobbit too good for the simple things now?” Bofur asked, though there was no real malice in his voice. Shaking his head in amusement, Bofur suddenly turned critical eyes on Frodo. “Oh, I see. Our burglar must have fallen in love with one of the elves; just look at those pointy ears.”

Frodo barely refrained from laughing. At home there had been a rumor once when Frodo was just nearing puberty (Frodo thinks may have been started by the twins) that Frodo’s Adar was actually Elrond. That had been an awkward couple of weeks between Da and Uncle Elrond barely talking and the twins joking of hobbit marriage. In the end, the rumors were finally laid to rest by a dinner where Da stood on the table and told the elves Frodo’s father had been a dwarf and leave his friend alone. Oh the looks on the elves faces!

“Hobbit ears are pointy anyway. I still say the lad looks like Kili,” Dwalin argued as he eyed the hobbit boy in front of him. 

Before Bofur could respond, the front door creaked open and Estel came into the room. “The horses are ready.” There was something about the way Estel was carrying himself that wasn’t right.

“Ah, well then, I best check the windows and then we will be on our way,” Gandalf agreed and then made his rounds about the little home. Frodo went with him.

“Is Estel alright?” he asked as Gandalf tested the small window in the kitchen.

“Of course, my boy,” Gandalf responded as he moved on to the next window, tested that and then shut the curtains.

There was no falseness in the wizard’s tone, so Frodo asked the next question that had been plaguing him. “And my Da? Is he alright?” 

Piercing blue-grey eyes turned to him. “I expect he is still pacing frantically back and forth in your bedroom,” he scolded.

Frodo’s face darkened at the thought. He hadn’t meant to worry his Da but he knew he would not have let him come. “Is he really mad at me?” 

“Well, I’d be surprised if you didn’t get your pointy ears pinched and dragged from Rivendell’s gate straight to your room,” Gandalf replied with a bit of amusement, “But he is more worried than angry. You are, after all, his only child and his reason for living. I think part of the reason for his unnaturally long life is sheer stubbornness to see you happy and with a family of your own before he passes.”

Frodo stared down at the curls of hair on his feet. “Grandfather?”

“Yes, Frodo?”

“Since coming here and seeing the other hobbits, I can’t help but see the differences between them and us. My aging is understandable since I know I’m not fully a hobbit but my Da… he’s over a hundred and still has gold in his hair like a fifty year old hobbit here in the Shire. Was it the dragon blood or…”

Gandalf tilted Frodo’s head and forced the blue eyes to meet him. “Now none of that, my lad. I’m sure all will be revealed in time. For now, enjoy your time together as best you can. Now I think it’s time to be heading back before your absence bleaches the rest of his hair white.”

Frodo gave a small smile and nodded and together they finished their rounds and headed outside where the three others were mounted and waiting. Frodo locked the door and went to walk to Estel’s horse when Gandalf called behind him, “Ride with me, lad. It’ll be better for your little legs.”

“I’m fine,” Frodo blinked in confusion. He’d ridden horses since he was very small and only got the occasional leg cramp. 

“I think you should ride with Gandalf,” Estel agreed, his words like a knife to his back and up his heart. 

“Oh… alright…” he said with a tight smile before turning on his heel towards the cart and climbing up the small wooden step. 

“Maybe you can ride with me, lad. A pony’s more your size,” Dwalin offered upon seeing his face from his place beside the cart on his own mount. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Frodo said he settled in, embarrassed. 

“Alright, off we go,” Gandalf said as he urged his small horse onward.

The party went at a soft trot through the rolling hills of the Shire. Most farmers and their children had crept into the fields as dawn broke and the sounds of animals grazing and children laughing as they played in tall meadow grass drifted through the air. As they passed the Took home, Paladin Took was sitting on a stone bench by the small fence smoking his morning pipe as he penned some sort of letter. 

Paladin looked up with amusement at the party and rose from his seat. Removing his pipe from his mouth, he called, “You off again lads?”

“Yes, it’s time for us to be heading home,” Frodo replied from his place on the cart.

“Okay. Don’t be a stranger, boys. Come back and visit us again, Frodo Baggins!”

Bewildered as the cart pulled out of sight, Frodo turned to Gandalf and said, “How…”

“He’s a Took, my boy,” Gandalf said as he waved indulgently at the hobbit children who had gathered on the side of the road to watch the small procession, “and Gamgees have big mouths.”

They were halfway between the last house and the old forest when there was a call of “Wait!” Gandalf slowed the horse down and the rest of the party did the same. “Wait, Mr. Frodo!” called a wheezing voice behind him. The panting figure of Sam Gamgee came jogging towards the cart. “Wait…” he repeated as he tried to catch his breath. 

“What can we do for you, Sam?” Estel asked as he cut the hobbit’s route off by turning his horse to the side.

“I just wanted to see Mr. Frodo before he left. I have something to give him,” Sam said, pushing past the horse and making his way to Frodo before anyone else could stop him. “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo smiled at his friend. “Why the Mister, Sam?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be right for a noble-hobbit such as yourself to be addressed by anything else” 

Frodo laughed. “Noble? Nonsense, you are my friend Sam, call me Frodo.” Coming out of the cart to stand beside the shorter hobbit, he wrapped him in a one-armed hug and continued, “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly but something has come up and I must go back home. When I return, I’ll be sure to stop by and see you for our meal.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said with a small blush heating his cheeks before reaching into his pockets to retrieve a beautifully carved flower bead made of dark, polished oak on a leather string long enough to go over Frodo’s head. “I made this for you.” Sam rose on his toes to loop the necklace over Frodo’s head. “To remember me by.”

“As if I could forget you, Sam,” Frodo said shaking his head in fondness before giving him another hug.

“Come on, Frodo; we’re losing daylight,” Estel called from behind him. 

Frodo nodded and climbed back in the cart, ignoring the way the elderly wizard was smiling at him as they began to move again. Once in the woods, the shire long behind them the wizard finally spoke. “It seems you made a friend, my dear Frodo.”

“Aye, a very good friend,” Bofur agreed with a teasing smile.

Knowing what they were hinting at, Frodo protested, “We were just friends.”

“That might be but that lad back there seemed to be wantin’ more than that!” Dwalin stated. “Or did you not know that’s a token of courtship around your neck?”

“Courtship!” Frodo repeated his hand flying to the bead. His Da had told him hobbits wooed each other with songs, dancing, and fine picnics, but it had been mentioned in a passing comment over Glorfindel and Erestor’s own courtship. Could something have been left out?

“He’s just joking with you, my boy,” Gandalf clarified, eyeing something behind him. Despite the clarification, the ribbing continued until the group reached Bree by late afternoon. 

Unlike the Shire, the hobbit town of Bree was well used to visitors of different races. The day they arrived happened to be market day and various people were peddling their goods at stands along the main road. Unsurprisingly, their goods that they were peddling were what their race was most known for. Human women were selling finely dyed cloth, human men were selling daggers and chainmail shirts, dwarfs of unrecognizable sex were displaying fine golden jewelry and iron works, hobbits were selling baked goods, and the one lone light-brunette elf at the end stall that Frodo slightly recognized as a healer who had studied under Lord Elrond was selling medicinal herbs. 

“Are those meat pies I smell?” Dwalin asked as he took a dramatic whiff of the air with his eyes closed. 

“Aye, I do so love market day!” Bofur said, dismounting his pony and making a bee-line for a hobbit stall before anyone could protest and began haggling with the short, plump female vendor in such a way that it quickly turned to flirting.

As Dwalin laughed at his comrade, Gandalf handed the reins of his horse to Frodo. “Watch the cart and the dwarves while I go see about an inn for the night.” Without waiting for Frodo’s reply, the wizard disembarked from the cart and set off down the street to find the company a room. 

“Aw, what a pretty hobbit,” a little human girl said from the side of the cart. She was a few inches than Frodo’s height, with a long plait of auburn hair and carrying a large armful of wild lavender and tulips. “Would you like a flower, Miss Hobbit?” 

Frodo went red again, gaping like a fish. “Why Miss Hobbit would love one,” Dwalin answered for him. Before Frodo could protest, the little girl was in the cart and handing him a light pink tulip with a warm smile. 

“Um… thank you,” he said and the girl slipped away towards a small home where a strawberry-blonde haired human woman was hanging sheets to dry on a clothes line. 

“She reminds me of my first born daughter,” Dwalin suddenly commented. “My girl has the most gorgeous beard of dusty red and she weaves pretty little flowers in it.”

“You have a daughter?” Frodo asked surprised.

“Aye. I have three girls and seven sons. My youngest is only eleven winters, the same age as my first grandchild,” Dwalin boasted with glee. Without any provocation, the dwarf launched into a story about how his first grandchild came to be and his eldest son’s quest for a wife all over Middle Earth for twenty years until he realized he had already had a perfect match in a childhood friend and the two had married. When his tale had finished, Frodo could not help but look to see Estel’s reaction and suddenly realized his friend and the horse had vanished.

“Where’s Estel?” Frodo asked as he turned this way and that to see if he could spot the man in the now heavy crowd. 

“Good news, my friends, I have gotten us a room for the night on the other side of the city,” Gandalf said, his voice causing Frodo to turn around as he climbed back into the cart and reclaimed the reins. “Let’s go put the horses in the stable.”

“Alright then, wizard,” Dwalin agreed and then called, “Bofur!” out into the noisy market.

“Here!” Bofur called out from where he was at the dwarf stall looking over a golden necklace with the vendor. “I’m comin’!” He put the necklace down and hopped up on his pony.

With the dwarves accounted for, the Grey Wizard ushered his small horse forward. 

“Wait, Grandfather. Estel…”

“He’ll find us fine, lad,” Gandalf replied, cutting off Frodo’s protests. 

Never the less, Frodo continued to scan the crowd for sign of his friend or his horse and saw no sight of him in the crowd. By the time they had settled in for the night at the inn, the sun was almost completely set and Frodo still had not seen him so he chose to wait outside until darkness fell and the air grew too cold for his bare feet to remain. When he came back in, his companions had seated themselves at a table near the inn tavern’s fireplace as the innkeeper made his rounds with drink and food. 

“We ordered for you, laddie,” Bofur stated around a leg of lamb and meeting his eyes over his tall mug of ale as he gestured to the full plate beside him. 

“I’m not hungry,” Frodo simply said, though his stomach objected to his words with a small grumble. “I think we should go…”

“He’ll be here soon enough,” Gandalf cut him off. “Now, you barely ate anything today. Come eat.”

“Aye, you’re skin and bone especially for a hobbit!” Dwalin agreed.

“Probably the diet of those ruddy elves; no offence to your mama lad,” Bofur commented.

“My mother is not an elf,” Frodo commented off hand. “I’m going to go look for him.” Before he could leave, Gandalf seized his arms and brought him back to the table. 

“Not until you finish your meal, my boy,” Gandalf ordered.

Frodo sighed and sat down and began to pick at the roll on his plate just as the inn door reopened to reveal Estel. Frodo let out a sigh of relief as the man walked over and sat down opposite of Frodo. 

“Where were you?” Frodo asked as he swallowed a piece of the buttery bread. “I was getting worried.”

“I went to go see to a few things,” Estel replied cryptically with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his grey eyes. “Now, what’s good?” With that the two younger companions barely talked throughout the meal other than to comment on the food. By contrast, the older members didn’t notice their lack of conversation as they were so immersed in each other’s memories and tales of life after their journey. The older companions’ laughter and joy just made the cavern between the two younger beings all the more apparent to an outside onlooker. 

Hours ticked by and the tavern began to empty out as the visitors went to seek their beds. With the three older members still occupied by their conversation, Estel silently led Frodo away to speak privately without one of the others overhearing them. The man found the perfect solution in the stables. 

Once the door was shut behind him, Frodo hissed, “What is this about Estel?”

Estel knelt down so that the two were almost on the same level and took Frodo’s shoulders in his hands as though he were comforting a child. “My dearest friend, this is where we shall part.”

Frodo jumped away, knocking the hands loose. “What!”

“I talked it over with Gandalf this morning. If I go back, my Adar will never let me leave Rivendell despite my promise to the rangers.”

“And well he shouldn’t,” Frodo agreed with an angry hiss. “Why are you so set on this?”

“Before we left… my Adar revealed something about my heritage to me. There are crimes I have to pay for my ancestors doing; there is a darkness building in this world and every year the number of orcs we see have been multiplying. The rangers will allow me to balance this evil out.”

“You can help at home,” Frodo argued, trying to fight the tears blurring his vision and the hollow feeling in his stomach.

Estel shook his head. “I would not be able to help on the same scale as if I joined the rangers.” Rising to his feet, the man stated with a cold look in his grey eyes, “I am not asking for your permission, Frodo, only your well wishes.”

For a full minute there was silence before the tears he had tried to fight trailed down the hobbit’s cheeks as he cleared his throat. “You have them; I shall always wish you well Estel.”

Estel gave him another small smile, whipped away the tears, and drew him into a tight embrace. For a few moments, there were no words until Estel spoke again, “Thank you, my friend.” The man then released him and left him standing on the spot as he fetched his horse and mounted. “Until we meet again…” And then with the click-clack of horse-shoes on stone he was gone and off into the night leaving his best friend behind to pray for his safety to whatever deity happened to be listening.

Frodo didn’t move until he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Time for rest,” Grandfather Gandalf stated as he led the distraught hobbit away. 

To Be Continued…

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	6. From Rivendell to Erebor

FROM RIVENDELL TO EREBOR

Frodo heard the sounds of home first- the calls of the birds, the distant playing of flutes and the rushing waters- before Gandalf’s cart turned the trail and the great city of Rivendell came into view. Even though he’d only spent two weeks in the Shire, he was struck by the size of the Elvin city and its openness as though it were the first time he’d seen it. Strange how the place you lived in your whole life could awe you when you return after a journey and make you appreciate it more; but there was also a bitter sweetness to this return and emptiness as the group was short one man.

When they had set out on this journey, Frodo had a fantasy where the two friends returned with Estel’s hand-fasting ring on Frodo’s finger and large arms would be around his shoulders. In the fantasy, the two would be met by their parents at the gate and be congratulated. But that was all it was- a fantasy- and like the toys of childhood he would have to be put it aside and move forward with his life. 

Frodo stole a glance at Gandalf, whose face was neutral as his blue-grey eyes stared straight ahead and then at their dwarf companions who were engaged in some sort of belching contest and talking amongst themselves in their own language. Frodo bit back a sigh and looked ahead again. 

The sight of the familiar horses in front of the gate caused a knot in his stomach. The twins were waiting for them at the gate; Frodo was not looking forward to explaining to them why Estel was not with them. Although Uncle Elrond would be the worst, telling his two friends that Estel had decided to join the rangers might change their relationship forever. Frodo lowered his head and braced himself for any chiding or heartbreak to come.

Once the small party entered the beautifully carved gate, they began to dismount. Frodo had set only one curly-haired foot on the ground before he was swept up into Elladan’s arms like a child again and held to the elf’s chest. 

Elrohir appeared to his left to ruffle his dark locks, “Did you have a good trip?” There was something strange in Elrohir’s smile.

Frodo opened his mouth to respond but Elladan suddenly turned with a speed that disoriented him for a brief moment. “Where’s Estel?” Elladan asked, grey eyes scanning the cart for signs of movement. The elf set him back on the ground. “Frodo?”

“He… stayed behind,” Frodo replied, looking at the ground with that heavy feeling sinking more into his stomach. 

“What do you mean he stayed behind?” Elrohir repeated. 

“He…”

“Frodo,” called a voice from across the courtyard and Frodo turned to meet angry grey eyes. Lord Elrond glided across the court yard, the very vision of the warlord recorded in Elvin history in his anger. Frodo had never seen him so infuriated and he took an involuntary step back. Without minding his cream colored attire, the Elf Lord knelt in front of him and grabbed his upper arms in a bruising grip. “Do you have any idea how worried your Da and I were? Leaving without word in the middle of the night when the orcs have been attacking so frequently recently! Consider yourself lucky that I do not turn you upon my knee like a child, you foolish boy!” Then, as quick as the anger came, the face softened and the young Halfling was drawn into a tight embrace. Only seconds ticked by before the Lord asked, “Where is Estel?”

“I regret to say the boy refused to come back home,” Gandalf answered, his staff making a clanking sound on the stone courtyard as he strode forward toward the Elf Lord. 

“And why is that Mithrandir?” Elrond asked, his grey eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“I believe the young man has decided to join the Rangers,” Gandalf replied, meeting Elrond’s gaze with his own grey-blue. 

Elrond released a very relieved Frodo, who was quite happy to be let go, and rose up from the ground. “And just who have him such an idea?”

“On this, I had no part in,” Gandalf stated, tilting his head slightly as he regarded the elf in front of him. “In fact, when I attempted to persuade the young man away from the idea he seemed to be under the impression that he had to repent for his ancestor’s sins.”

Lord Elrond drew back as though he had been slapped and Frodo’s eyes went wide at the obvious slight to his Uncle Elrond. 

“Adar?” Elladan asked, clearly unnerved by his father’s expression and curious about the Grey Wizard’s words.

“Elrohir, take Frodo…” Lord Elrond turned as a muffled Dwarfish curse echoed in the tense silence as Dwalin’s long black-blue beard got caught in his pony’s harness, “and our guests inside. Mithrandir and I have something to discuss.” 

“Yes, Adar,” Elrohir agreed as he went to assist the balding dwarf with untangling himself. 

With a beckoning gesture, the wizard followed the dark-haired elf from the courtyard and up the familiar steps to the private meeting room and disappeared from sight. Then servants swooped in to take bags and mounts from the three remaining travelers as the twins beckoned them inside. 

“Pfft, unearthly beauty of a place they say of Rivendell,” Dwalin remarked as they were led past several rooms and buildings into the large hall that led to the personal quarters of the archivists. “Same as it was fifty years ago.”

“Aye,” Bofur agreed, “Erebor’s much more impressive. Frodo, lad, perhaps we can convince you and Bilbo ta come with us for a visit if your… whatever the elf is… will let you go.”

Frodo was about to answer the question when he caught sight of Elrohir’s grin. Oh what prank was this elf going to play? “He’s our Adar,” Elrohir claimed, not defining the ‘our’ part.

Frodo shook his head softly and then shared an amused glance with Elladan as the dwarves stopped in their tracks, shocked and curious expressions on their faces. “And how did this come about?” Dwalin asked, rubbing his beard with his brows knitted together. 

“Well, you see when two beings love each other very much…” Elladan began as they neared the door which marked the hobbits’ rooms. When Frodo opened his mouth to correct the twin’s little prank, Elladan’s next words stopped him cold. “Perhaps the explanation is best saved for another time. Bilbo has been waiting for you, Frodo.” 

“Shouldn’t he be in the library with Uncle Erestor at this time of the day?” Frodo asked in confusion. His Da was very much a hobbit of routine when left to his own devices.

“Well, he normally would but he…” Elrohir’s voice trailed off.

“Maybe we had best let him explain his war wounds,” Elladan advised, with a grin as he opened the door and led them to Da’s simply carved bedroom door. With a knock on the door frame, Elladan called to the rooms occupant, “Bilbo, are you decent?”

“War wounds?” Frodo repeated in bewilderment as they heard the reply of ‘Yes, come in’ from inside. 

Elladan opened the door to reveal Frodo’s Da propped up in bed with his left leg elevated. Hazel eyes were fixated on a large tome, which gave the visitors leave to observe him. To Frodo’s eyes, the man was paler in both hair and complexion than Frodo had seen him last but still had some good spots of color in his cheeks. “Come to bring me more books, my boy?” The hazel eyes lifted from his page and the man’s face froze. “Frodo?” Then a tear descended down the right side of the smaller hobbit’s face. “Oh, my beautiful baby you’ve come home.” 

When Bilbo’s arms outstretched towards him, Frodo ran like a child into his Da’s warm embrace. 

“My dear baby,” Bilbo cried with a laugh of joy as he ran somewhat gnarled and ink-stained hands through the mass of black curls on Frodo’s head.

“What happened to your leg, Da?” Frodo asked when the grip finally began to loosen. 

“Oh, it was a spot of foolishness, my lad,” Bilbo replied as he petted the nearest hand to him in comfort. “When those two mischief makers told me where you had gone,” the hobbit began by pointing to the two elves who were attempting to put on the most innocent face imaginable, “I thought I could go and retrieve you myself before you got in trouble. I forgot I am not as young as I once was and tripped down a hill about halfway to Bree. Broke my leg in two places and was lucky that a Ranger happened by and took me home. The twins have been very good in looking after me as I mend.”

“Does it hurt?” Frodo asked guiltily, knowing his Da would never have been so foolish to leave the safety of Rivendell had he not left. 

“Not really, my dear boy. Lord Elrond made this most wonderful pain tonic from sort of plant… poppy, I think it was. I highly recommend it.” Frodo glanced at the twins and saw Elrohir mouth ‘opium.’ Oh… that explained his Da’s good mood but at least he wasn’t so overdosed on it that he became glassy-eyed. 

“Bilbo?” came a gruff call from behind the twins and the smaller hobbit froze. Oh, that’s right. Frodo had forgotten about the dwarfs. Dwalin and Bofur pushed their way past the two elves and into the room. Dwalin’s grin at the sight of him nearly split the dwarf’s face. “Awe, come here my little friend,” he called as he moved forward to sweep Bilbo into a nigh bone-crushing hug. “I am hugging Bilbo, right?”

“Yes, you’ve finally got the right hobbit,” Bofur confirmed as Dwalin released the elder hobbit who let out a pained ‘oof’ as he dropped back on the bed. “Where have you been, Bilbo? Balin’s been to visit you several times since he reclaimed Moria and he says you’re always out. Have you been here with the ruddy elves the whole time?” Turning to the twins, he commented, “No offense.”

Elrohir and Elladan meanwhile looked like they were two seconds away from laughing hysterically.

“Well, yes. I hadn’t thought any of you would want to see me after the battle.”

“Why would ya think that?” Bofur asked, blinking owlishly, his strange, ever-present hat adding to the effect.

Bilbo’s mouth opened momentarily before he shut it again and reconsidered whatever it was he was about to say. “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he finally said, “So how have things been back in Erebor since I last saw it?”

“My friend, Erebor has never been richer. The gold and silver mines have been turnin’ out more and more treasure each day. Thorin is still rebuilding parts of the palace and city but the carvin’s he’s commissioned put this place to shame especially the statues of Kili and Fili which guard the city; Thorin buried his elf blade between them, having said he’d like a dwarf weapon better, so the pair light up blue whenever danger is near. Gloin has been helping with the repairs with his lad, Gimli, and his wife is expecting another child…”

“It’s probably already been born by now,” Dwalin added. “Probably resembles its father and has a full head of red hair…”

“His wife had red hair too.”

“I thought it was blonde?” 

“That’s because ya can’t see, ya scabby arsed old man,” Bofur returned, with no real heat behind his words.

“My arse is still better lookin’ then yours,” Dwalin returned with a smile. “And if you want to learn how to insult proper-like, go to Moria and get lessons from me brother, Balin.”

“I can insult ya just fine!” Bofur replied.

“Mayhap if you were still a laddie...” The teasing went on.

Frodo saw his Da’s face light up at the playful teasing before the hobbit finally began to laugh out loud. Bringing the dwarfs with them home had not been a bad decision at all. “I had forgotten how loud and rambunctious dwarves could be. It’s so different from the usual quiet here and quite welcome,” the elder hobbit mused to himself and Frodo. When the dwarves were finally settling down, the smaller hobbit asked, “Have there been any problems in Erebor?”

“Only the usual kind that kingdoms face,” Dwalin answered as he stroked his beard in thought. “Dain and his son Dain have been trying to worm their way into the throne. As if killing the Defiler ensures you win the crown!”

“Aye, but they will likely get the throne and title anyway once Thorin passes,” Bofur added with a heavy sigh. “I think I’ll go to Moria when that happens.”

“What makes you say that?” Frodo asked. 

Dwalin reached over and ruffled the dark locks as though Frodo was still a child, fingers lingering on the gold hair clasp still braided in the long curls. “Unlike Elves, Dwarves do not live forever, my lad. Thorin has never married and there is no heir for the title from his loins. The throne would fall to the closest living relative of Thorin, which is Dain.”

“Never married?” Bilbo repeated and then cleared his throat before continuing, “But Balin told me Thorin had his eye on someone.” 

“Aye and apparently it didna work out,” Bofur answered. “His offer of formal courtship was ignored and he hasn’t looked for another candidate since.” Frodo glanced questioningly to see if the other dwarf had any hint of his Da’s feelings toward the Dwarf King and didn’t see any deception.

“How are you feeling, my friend?” came a familiar voice from behind the party. Frodo turned to see the twins had left the doorway and Gandalf was standing in their place at the door.

“Much better,” Bilbo replied as he patted the bandaged leg. “Lord Elrond told me it’s halfway healed already…” 

And with that, the subject of Erebor and Frodo’s Adar changed and an easier topic was selected. 

xxxxoooxxxx

In an elaborately carved new throne in the large gold, white, and silver themed chamber of the palace, King Thorin sat barely containing his groans of pain as his blood thumped in his temples. It was not even midday yet and he had developed a headache from dealing with the affairs of the kingdom. He had held court earlier that morning as he did every morning after a quarter moon and the amount of complaints he had addressed that day were very numerous. The first two cases had been the standard property boundary disputes between neighbors. Next came a large dwarf woman who dragged her husband by his beard before the assembly and demanded an end to their bonding as he had nearly set their home on fire when he had been working in their forge drunk. Thorin granted her request immediately. 

The next were all simply a blur to his mind and there were still too many cases to hear. He’d postponed about half of them until the following morning and now he awaited Nori’s report on the band of orcs spotted at on the eastern side of the city gate. 

“Cousin, you look weary,” Thorin heard to his left. Without even turning his head, he knew it was Dain the elder who had spoken. Thorin could already feel another headache coming on. He knew the dwarf meant well but he was power hungry. “Perhaps I can take over the duties of the king for the afternoon.”

Aulë forgive him, he was going to take that offer. Smoothing some imaginary crumbs from his curled beard, Thorin rose to his feet with as much dignity as one with a wooden leg could. Thorin saw Dain wince at the sound of the metal fastenings on the wooden leg creak in sync with the same cracking sound of his true knee. “If you think you’re up for the challenge…” Thorin’s words faulted when a very familiar laugh echoed in the cavernous throne room. Dwalin and Bofur must have returned after their long journey which began a year ago. 

No sooner had the smile teased at the end of his lips then the two dwarves came into the throne room, Dwalin carrying a sack over one shoulder with Bofur following him in. 

“And how was your journey, my friends?” Thorin asked as Dwalin set the sack down carefully.

“It were quite a success,” Bofur stated as he opened up the sack and revealed a set of finely made yellow and orange plates that Thorin had not seen for over fifty years and Thorin’s heart momentarily stopped. No word, no letters, but here… here might be proof that the hobbit was alive.

“And how did you get those?” Thorin asked as he willed his hands not to shake as he reached over to grab the plate. 

“Well, seeing as Frodo brought a whole cart full of his grandma’s dishes back to Rivendell and Bilbo didn’t have space for them all, he gave us the dishes we wanted,” Dwalin said as he examined the contents of his sack, “I thought my wife would like some fine dishes for when we have some sort of special celebration.”

“How is Bilbo?” Thorin asked. The hobbit would be well over one hundred now and that was about the average life span of a hobbit. Thorin tried but just couldn’t picture the golden curls turned to silver and the joyous face worn and ravaged by time. 

“He’s quite well but apparently hasna been home to the Shire for near fifty years, after all that complainin’ he had been doin’ on the trip and he’s been livin’ among the Elves of all things. Has an Elf husband he calls ‘lord’ but who dotes on him hand and curly foot,” Bofur replied as he dug in the sack and pulled out a long silver smoking pipe.

“An elf?” Thorin repeated feeling like the floor had become pure water as he struggled to maintain apathy. An elf was the reason why the hobbit had never returned?

“Aye. Their lad, Frodo, reminds me quite a bit of Bilbo.”

“I still think the lad reminds me of Kili,” Dwalin commented.

“You only say that because of the hair fastening and we both know your eyesight is as good as a troll. The boy is clearly part elf, with that white skin and bluebell eyes o’ his. Don’na know how they managed that…”

Thorin swallowed hard. He knew how the hobbit and its mate had managed it having seen that little slit and softer than average chest. Thorin put the image of that slit opening and swallowing him as he recalled what Bilbo had said on the matter- sterile; hobbits like Bilbo were sterile. But what if the hobbit had returned… Thorin chased the what-ifs away from his mind. It was too late now anyway. “Maybe it is bloody elf magic,” he replied and left it at that, then as an afterthought he asked, “What hair fastening?”

“The lad was wearin’ one of Kili’s old beads in his hair.”

“That wasn’t Kili’s bead. It was one of yours, Thorin. I recognized it as these old hands melted the fastening down for your father long ago,” Dwalin corrected as he held up his gnarled and iron burned hands from when he had worked as a blacksmith.

“I saw it glistenin’ in Kili’s beard once or twice,” Bofur argued. 

An odd sense of realization clicked in Thorin’s mind. “I believe I know which bead you are referring to. It was made of one of the last bits of gold of Erebor. I gave it to Kili when we set out to take our home back.”

“How did Bilbo manage to get hold of it?” Dwalin asked as he scratched his beard. “Though we called him a burglar, I doubt he would have taken anything without the intention of returning it.”

“Except the heart of the mountain,” Bofur added, unhelpfully. 

“Well, it worked out in the end, didn’t it?” Dwalin commented. "Kili likely lost it at some point. I 'member he never could keep his hair from gettin' matted. Always had a wild mane that lad..." Dwalin trailed off with a sad smile. "The little lad of Bilbo's seems much the same but the extra curl keeps that bead right!" 

“What did you say the lad’s name was?” Thorin asked, wanting to know about this hobbit who was the son of Bilbo and carried his family’s treasure in his hair.

“Frodo,” Dwalin supplied.

“Hmmm, Frodo,” Thorin repeated, testing the name out on his tongue. “What a strange name…”

To Be Continued…

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	7. Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Depressed and lonely hobbit ahoy!

FOOL

Six years later…

Candles were lit as the sun’s evening rays retreated further and further away. The Great Library of Rivendell was wrapped in silence with only the occasional cricket, the soft crinkle of pages being turned, and slap of feet on stone to break it every so often. Frodo was leaning against the library’s balcony, blue eyes steady on the line of orange, yellow, red and green forest beyond the gates of Rivendell as he waited for the twin’s return from patrol. The number of orcs seen in the area had doubled each year and his friends often came back with fresh orc blood on their armor. 

“Frodo,” Bilbo called from inside, causing Frodo look back where a nearly all-white haired head was seated at the large desk and hunched over a book with his ink-stained hand flying furiously over a piece of loose parchment. “Can you fetch a scroll in the back for me?”

“Yes, Da,” Frodo replied as he watched a gnarled hand play with the golden ring around his neck. His birth parent had been doing that a lot lately. “Which one?”

“The one marked RLSD-32,” Bilbo answered as he dropped the ring back into his shirt.

Frodo nodded and scurried to the closed area where the most fragile, ancient scrolls were kept. Opening the iron door, Frodo entered and tried to ignore the smell of stale air and dust as he searched the oak shelves for the one marked RLSD-32. Finding it, he picked it up carefully and went back to his Da, curious about what this scroll contained. 

“Ah, thank you, my lad.” With the care one would treat the frailest of artifacts, Bilbo set the scroll on another table out of the reach of the sun’s rays and undid the protective binding. Frodo’s blue eyes watched in fascination as his Da unrolled the ancient text and revealed a beautifully knotted artwork design of a bright red dragon with gold detail and pattern. Frodo’s fingers itched to trace that lovingly done gold outline. Seeing Frodo’s captivated expression, Bilbo smiled and explained, “This is a Numenorean text of the Second Age, my boy. It is one of thirty eight texts in this library that describes the history, anatomy, and use of dragons; all of which come from the Second Age as well. Is not the illustration beautiful? I must say the artist must have seen Smaug or one of its kin.”

“Why are you reading about dragons, Da?” Frodo asked offhandedly before turning to his Da’s desk and seeing a newly bound book with a page half written. “Oh, you’re finally writing your story.”

Bilbo lightly smacked Frodo’s left hand, cutting off any idea to go investigate. “Now don’t you go reading that! It’s not finished.”

“Not even a little peak?” Frodo pleaded with a mischievous smirk. 

“No. Now, go wash up for supper. I hear Lord Elrond is preparing something special.” Frodo was instantly excited. Something special meant Rivendell was expecting important or much loved guests.

“Is it Grandfather Gandalf?” Frodo asked hopefully. It had been over six years since he had last seen the wizard in Rivendell; Uncle Elrond and he had not parted on happy terms. He only hoped it was all sorted out now. “Or could it be Estel has come home for our birthday?” In five days, Frodo was turning sixty years old and his Da was turning one-hundred-eleven. Though Frodo had sent seven letters to Estel via the twins over the years and had not received anything back, surely the man would come home to celebrate another decade of Frodo’s life?

“I don’t know lad,” Bilbo said shaking his white and gold curls softly in empathy. “I think you’ll just have to go and see.”

With an excited smile, Frodo hurried to their rooms to freshen up for diner. After brushing his curls into a tamed wave, straightening his clothes and washing his hands, he fled as fast as his hobbit feet would allow to the banister above the dining hall and looked down. Though the table was prepped and a few starter dishes such as fruit laid out there were only a handful of elves gathered so far. Frodo was far too early. 

With a sigh, he made his way slowly down the stairs to his usual seat. Minutes ticked by and Frodo watched as each familiar elf entered and sat down, hands in their lap or delicately munching on a slice of fruit. Finally the twins entered, without their armor and hair nicely combed back. They took their seats to Frodo’s right side and that was when Frodo noticed the two cloaked figures behind them. 

For a brief moment, Frodo entertained the hope that one of the visitors was Estel and another ranger but that was quickly shattered when the two removed their hoods and then Frodo almost gasped. Both figures were elves- one pure white blond and a serious looking male and the other a dark-haired female that was the most beautiful elf Frodo had ever seen. 

The female smiled serenely to the assembled elves, her grey eyes sparkling with such love as elves rose and greeted her familiarly with a touch on her shoulder while the male stood by with a mistrustful hand on his sword. Frodo wondered if the two were married or otherwise bonded with the way he was carrying himself. 

One of the last elves to join them was Lord Elrond, who immediately held out his arms for an embrace to the strange visitors. “Ada!” The female cried in an enchantingly musical voice and rushed forward to him and suddenly Frodo knew why the elf’s coloring was so familiar as the two dark brown heads blended together so it was hard to tell whose hair was which strand. Frodo was surprised; he had heard whispers of a daughter but he had thought she had joined her mother in the undying lands. 

“My lovely little Arwen, welcome home,” Uncle Elrond cried with happiness as he picked the female up and twirled her around with happiness. When Lord Elrond finally released her, he went to the fair-haired elf and touched his shoulder. “And we welcome our friend Haldir to our home as well.”

Haldir inclined his head in acknowledgement but his face still remained apathetic to those assembled. Frodo glanced to his right and almost snickered at the twin’s mocking mirroring of the image.

“It is good to be home, Ada,” Arwen said as she took a seat to the right of Lord Elrond’s empty chair where Estel once sat and Frodo had to bite his tongue to stop himself from correcting her. It might have been her seat once but it just reminded him of foolish hopes. He stared down at his empty plate and mentally scolded himself for such a strong reaction to her occupation of the mostly vacant seat. He was only startled out of his thoughts when he heard, “I see we have new faces in Rivendell.” 

Frodo glanced up and saw both Arwen and Haldir’s gaze on him; her gaze was curious and sweet but the male was looking at him like he was some vile orc in their midst.

“Indeed. Must you allow your pet to sit at the table?” Haldir hissed as he looked down his nose at the young hobbit several seats away from him. 

Frodo reared back in shock. Surely the elf wasn’t talking about him! He must have heard wrong or maybe one of the twins was hiding a squirrel in their outfit again. He glanced right and saw both twins glaring back at the male as Lord Elrond stood in his seat with his face flushed with an anger Frodo had rarely witnessed. “Frodo is a member of this family; I will not have you disrespect him in any way!”

“A mole is a member of your house, Elrond?” Haldir repeated with a dismissive wave. “How low has your house sunk?”

Everyone froze in horror or curiosity as they watched the scene unfold. The room was eerily quiet until a few elves turned in their seats to watch something go by. Just out of the corner of his eye, Frodo noticed his Da coming up the isle to sit on his left. Bilbo either ignored the stares or was oblivious to them as he climbed into the delicately carved seat and reached for an apple. With amazed eyes, Frodo noticed most in the room fixed on the smaller hobbit happily munching away. For several minutes, the only sound was chewing and biting before Bilbo finally either noticed or could no longer politely ignore the stares. The elder hobbit asked with a glance about the room, “Is everything alright?”

“Not one but two… what would Lady Celebrian say on this matter?” Haldir wondered aloud. 

“My mother would gladly have loved to meet any strange creature which meant no harm,” Arwen announced with a fixed stare on her companion to communicate a need for his silence on the matter. For several moments, no one spoke until finally Haldir nodded and then the assembly began to eat.

Frodo, however, was not hungry after the shock had begun to wear off. He still could feel the male elf’s eyes upon him and it made his skin crawl and itch. Quietly, he tried to climb down from the chair but was stopped by his Da’s hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright, my boy?”

“Yes, yes,” Frodo lied, not meeting his Da’s eyes, “I’m simply not hungry right now. I had a large second lunch.”

“Oh, okay, my sweet,” his Da said but his tone demonstrated an underlying empathy. So he had heard what the strange elf had said. How could he be so calm? “I’ll save a few pastries for you later.”

Frodo only nodded in acknowledgment. Then, as fast as he could without running, Frodo went to his room and collapsed upon the soft, intricately carved bed. His hands were shaking and he could only still to stall their quivering was to rub them back and forth over his chest like he was freezing. In a way, he was. 

At some point, he must have fallen asleep because when he woke up his Da was sitting next to him, combing his curls with slightly twisted fingers. “I’m sorry you had to witness the bad this world has to offer, Frodo.” 

“Why would that elf say something like that?” Frodo asked. 

Bilbo’s eyes became glazed with some sort of memory. “Hate does not always have a foundation, my boy. When I was adventuring with your Adar, believe me I was called far worse than a mole by the folks we encountered. Your Adar, if I remember correctly, also had his share of horrible names hurled at him. But you can’t let the ignorance of others bother you. In the future simply brush it off.” The elderly hobbit shook his head as though he himself were following his own advice before turning, lifting a plate from the nightstand and laying it in front of his son. “Now have a strawberry tart.” 

It was easier said than done. The next day, Frodo tried to go about his day as usual but Haldir seemed to lurk around every corner and Frodo was frightened of what would happen should he be found alone. It was at dinner again that Frodo was forced to be in the same room as the elf. Luckily, the strange elf seemed disinterested and was discussing some sort of spider attack with Uncle Elrond so Frodo could pick at his food in peace. 

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the hall and suddenly there was another group of strange elves dressed in similar green tunics in the doorway. “Lord Elrond,” the youngest looking one with pale blonde hair addressed his Uncle. 

“Legolas, it has been three centuries since last you graced these halls,” his uncle said with a fond smile but a warning glance cast to the twins that Frodo recognized as one of no mischief. 

“Indeed, my friend, but I am afraid this is not a social visit,” Legolas replied and Frodo was surprised to note the elf’s eyes suddenly fixed on his Da who was silently eating his soup before moving on without comment. “I bring news from Mirkwood that requires your attention.”

“I see,” Uncle Elrond said with a now stony face and Frodo nearly shivered as he thought of what this could mean. “I think perhaps we should discuss this in my study…” He motioned for the blonde elf and party to follow him. A short while after, the other elves adjourned for the night. Finally, it was simply himself, his Da, and Elrohir at the table. 

“What is going on?” Frodo finally asked in a low whisper to his elf friend. 

“I do not know,” Elrohir replied, but the elf does not meet his eyes. He’s lying and curiosity begins burning inside Frodo. “Perhaps it is time to retire for the night.”

“Surely not without saying good night to me, lad,” spoke the familiar voice of someone who Frodo had been waiting so long to see again. Frodo jumped up in his seat and turned to the doorway where two figures stood, one hooded in a dark green with muddy boots and the other cloaked in grey. 

“Grandfather!” Frodo exclaimed with a bright smile as he ran on furry feet to embrace the wizard.

Gandalf chuckled as he caught him and twirled the hobbit around like he was a child again before gathering Frodo against his breast. “I have missed you, my boy.”

“Where have you been?” Frodo questioned. “I usually see you at least once a year.”

Gandalf set the hobbit once more on the ground. “I’m sorry for my absence Frodo but I had to attend to some affairs with the other races these past years.”

“What kinds of affairs?” Frodo asked before being distracted by the sight of Elrohir pouncing on the green cloaked figure and drawing him into a fierce hug which made Frodo finally realize who was standing next to his grandfather figure. As Gandalf moved to the side with a call to Bilbo, Estel finally drew his hood back and revealed himself.

Frodo’s eyes went wide in shock. It seemed the man had aged twenty years in only six. Small wrinkles tweaked the ends of his eyes and his skin looked ragged and worn. His hair gathered into a small tie at the nape of his neck was longer but straggly and bleached by the elements and the roughness of a beard with similar coloring graced his cheeks. But it was the look in his eyes that seemed the most changed; the grey eyes that had once held promise of mischief were now cold as steel and just as hard as they fixed upon him. 

“Hello, Frodo,” Estel acknowledged with a slight smile as the hobbit drew closer to clasp the man’s hand in welcome and was pulled into a strong embrace. “How I have missed you, my friend,” the ranger whispered into his hair. He had missed him? Was it truly only as a friend? Frodo opened his mouth to say something in response, but there were no words that came to mind and so he let himself relax into his love’s warmth. 

For several precious moments, the two stayed locked in each other’s arms before Elladan’s voice called from the entry in a stony tone, “Estel, Adar will wish to see you.”

Without looking toward the speaker behind him, Estel released Frodo and replied back, “Lead the way.” Then, with what seemed a mere turn of his heel, Estel, Elladan, and Elrohir exited the room. When Frodo turned to where he thought his Da and Grandfather were, he found the spot empty. Bilbo and Gandalf had departed while Frodo had been distracted by his friend’s new appearance. 

He was alone. 

For several seconds, Frodo simply stood there, uncertain if he should follow his friends when he wasn’t sure if his presence would be appreciated or if he should return to his room. Noting the darkness of the night outside the window, he decided on the latter if for nothing else then for the sake of sleep. 

His feet found his room before his brain could even realize he had walked home and the young hobbit crawled into his soft bed, absently tracing the worn wooden lady elf carving on the head board as he tried to sleep. For several hours, he attempted to go to sleep but the curious questions in his mind prevented him. 

Why had so many strangers shown up in the space of two days?

Why was Estel so different? What was happening out in the world?

For that matter, where were his father and grandfather gone off to? 

His careful ears had not heard the sound of hobbit or wizard feet in the suite yet which meant the two were still discussing something somewhere in Rivendell. It was near midnight; where could the two be? Perhaps the two were simply caught up in reminiscing about their adventure or discussing odd history to recall the time. They had done that often enough when Frodo was growing up. He remembered when he was ten years and the two older pair had fallen asleep before a fire with their pipes still billowing smoke from their lips. Uncle Elrond had given the two such a scolding when he found them the next morning!

With a long-suffering groan, Frodo pulled himself from his bed, changed into a simple outfit, and went to go look for them. Thinking to find them in the library, Frodo planted his feet in the direction. When he entered, the only light in the library was from the fireflies buzzing about and no one seemed to have been there for hours. 

He was just about to look elsewhere when he heard murmurs from outside. Now, Frodo knew it was impolite to eavesdrop but there was something that was compelling him to investigate. Crossing on his quiet hobbit feet to the balcony and looked down into the secluded garden below. There Frodo found a pair of hooded figures beneath a tree pressed together. 

After a moment, Frodo realized the two were kissing. When the two finally drew apart, their features suddenly became clear and Frodo’s legs suddenly began to wobble. With a sudden intake of breath, Frodo gripped the railing of the balcony like a life line.

One of the lovers was Estel. 

Even though he was several feet away, Frodo knew it was him with a female elf, whose face was turned away from Frodo in his arms. The look of awe and love on Estel’s face was like a knife in deep Frodo’s thigh- painful and unlikely fatal unless left to fester. The lady turned slightly and Frodo finally realized he was staring at Lady Arwen. What of the elf Haldir? Was he not her husband? How had the two even met… when had they fallen in love... why was Frodo not good enough for him? Did he not see how much Frodo loved him all those years ago?

When the two dipped their foreheads together, Frodo turned and fled as fast as his little hobbit feet would allow as his heart continued to crack. A tear slipped down his cheek as he closed his bedroom door. Once one fell another followed before Frodo angrily brushed them away. He mentally scolded himself. In three days, Frodo would turn sixty years old. He had not been a child for many years yet he still had held the same idea of love as the ten year old listening to the stories of faeries and true love no matter how much he had tried to push them from his mind since he had returned home. 

“Fool,” Frodo chastised himself as he walked on shaky limbs back to his bed. “Fool of a hobbit.” Without bothering to undress, he slipped beneath the covers and stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom and simply lay like that until morning when his body finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

To Be Continued…

PLEASE REVIEW!


	8. Of Rings and Fireworks

OF RINGS AND BIRTHDAYS

The world shifted while Frodo slept under Gandalf’s protective gaze. Much of it remained the same- the same buildings which had stood there hours before still remained; the Library of Rivendell’s books were still lovingly attended to and placed back in their designated home when no longer in use; the gates of Gondor and Erebor still held. However, the general feeling of the atmosphere of Middle Earth had changed. There was a thickness in the air and a mass migration of all manner of races to different corners of the known world.

Fear and terror was upon the land. The races could no longer ignore the call of their great enemy or ally in Mordor. Sauron had returned and was looking for his ring.

Gandalf gently ran a hand through the slumbering hobbit’s dark glossy curls as he noted the tear tracks evident in the afternoon sun. Ah, so Frodo had either seen or known of Aragorn’s rendezvous the previous night. His ancient heart ached for the poor innocent lad he saw as a grandson. 

Gandalf had kept tabs on the young ranger who called himself Strider as he traveled Middle Earth, seeking information and help against the enemy. He had heard of the lad’s brave deeds and the praise of the hobbits of the Shire Strider patrolled. He had been in Lorien asking the Lady of the Wood for her council when the young ranger and Lady Arwen had met and seen the connection between the two. The love there was parallel with that of Beren and Luthien; only death would prevent these two from coming together again. 

Poor Frodo didn’t seem to have a chance. Yet every instinct in his body was telling him there was going to be more to the story; love was entwined with the hobbit’s destiny. In his mind’s eye, he saw a brief moment of an older Frodo with small braids holding the mass of curls away from his face. The future Frodo suddenly turned to him holding his arms out for an embrace and it was then than Gandalf noted the top part of Frodo’s index finger missing. The wizard could barely contain his gasp at the sight of the strangely scarred stump.

“Gandalf?” he heard Bilbo ask quietly behind him, drawing him out of his strange vision. He knew by the hobbit’s voice he was asking if everything was alright with his child.

The grey wizard gestured the elder hobbit out of the room and into the sitting room to sit down. Once Bilbo was seated in his rocker, Gandalf finally said, “Frodo is fine, my friend; he is simply suffering the effects of a broken heart. Young love is always a fickle thing.”

“Oh my poor lad,” Bilbo commented as he rocked slightly in his chair.

“Have you given thought to my words?” Gandalf asked as he changed the subject and watched with narrowed eyes as small fingers instantly flew to clasp the ring in his hand.

“That I have and I know what must be done yet…” There was a sudden shadow in Bilbo’s eyes. “It calls to me, whispering of freedom and… protection. It’s…my precious.” The old skin began to warp into a grayish tone and the voice raised to a tone Gandalf had only heard once before in a creature more wretched than any upon Middle Earth- Gollum. 

Terror for his friend and the young being sleeping in the next room made Gandalf shake with anger. “Bilbo,” he said lowly with clear threat of consequence should he not be obeyed, “Give me the ring.”

“NO!” Bilbo hissed, his face contorted as the small body lounged forward towards him before the hobbit caught himself and a look of absolute horror and disgust settled on his features. Without a second thought, the hobbit ripped the chain holding the ring away from his neck and cast it into the small fire that had been chasing the autumn chill away. To Bilbo’s further humiliation, the gold did not melt but an ancient writing he had seen before in the library lit on the edges.

_One ring to rule them all._

Using a nearby fireplace poker, Gandalf retrieved the pulsing, evil thing and set it high up on the stone mantel to cool and remain out of reach of the trembling elder hobbit. Helping the elder hobbit to settle into his rocker, Gandalf looked back at the ring. For some time, the two fell in silence as the letters slowly began to fade until finally Gandalf spoke, “I’ve been from the Blue Mountains to Gondor these past years seeking aid from all the races of Middle Earth. It has been agreed that there shall be a great council held on this matter on friendly ground, which only seems to be Rivendell in this age. The elves of Mirkwood have already arrived from the west last night and a party from Gondor has sent word that they will be joining us within the week...” 

The wizard gave a very probing look at the hobbit still trembling in his chair before proceeding, “The dwarves may send their own representatives, but I’ve had no word. Once everyone is settled, we will begin discussion on what is to be done.”

“What is there to discuss?” Bilbo demanded, still slightly shaking. “Destroy the ring and be done with it!”

“I’m afraid it is not as simple as that, my old friend,” Gandalf spoke with a sad gleam in his eye. “The ring can only be destroyed in the fires in which it was forged.”

“Which from what you tell me is Mount Mordor…” Bilbo’s voice trailed off and suddenly his eyes narrowed as he turned to the old wizard. “And who is going to take this evil thing to Mordor?” When Gandalf remained eerily silent, Bilbo continued to press, “Who will carry this ring? I know you do not intend for it to be me; that piece of gold whispers to me from the mantel even now.”

Gandalf gave a weary sigh and stared at the cooling ring on the mantel. “This piece of precious metal has grabbed the soul and heart of many beings of different races; it twists and changes those it comes in contact with and only one I know of has resisted its call though they have seen it every day.” 

“And who might that be?”

Gandalf’s answer was interrupted by a knock at the door. For one moment, the two were silent as they glanced at the door and back at the ring on the mantel before Gandalf produced a dark pocket pouch filled with herbs used to treat victims of dark magic. As Bilbo walked slowly to the door, he used the bag to grab the now cool metal and slid it away into his robes for safe keeping while making sure the elder Hobbit did not see where he put it. 

Despite the protection, the wizard still felt some of the pulses from the ring from its container. Though they were much subdued and right now a mere annoyance, Gandalf knew that should he hold onto it much longer than a month it would change him forever. Having never held the ring of power before, he was suddenly very sympathetic to Isildur’s greedy choice. 

It would be hard for any being to resist it and yet the boy lying in the next room had resisted it. Frodo had seen and even tried to grasp it through Bilbo’s shirt as a baby but he was still a creature of amazing purity and love. Despite Bilbo’s slip earlier, the elder hobbit was also a surprise in that regard and it gave him hope that another could do the same at the council. 

As Gandalf pondered who might be able to carry the burden of the ring, Lord Elrond entered the room with a sour look fixed on his face at the sight of the wizard, but proceeded to cross to the fire nonetheless with Bilbo trailing behind him. As the hobbit and wizard settled on seats, the Elf Lord remained standing. 

“I bring both good and bad reports on the upcoming council,” the elf began as he rubbed at his sharp, chin in worry. “I have received word that the dwarves are sending their own representative to the council.” Turning to the stiff hobbit, he further explained, “They are coming from Erebor.”

The fire cracked. “Who?” Bilbo managed after a moment’s time. 

“I know naught, my friend, but as with their last visit my people will keep your secrets safe,” Elrond promised. “Prince Legolas has brought disturbing word to me of a creature his father kept locked away. It calls itself Gollum; have you heard of it Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s eyes went wide. “Gollum… I thought he never left his cave.” 

“Apparently around sixty years ago, the guards of Mirkwood found the creature in the forest. For the safety of his citizens, King Thranduil decided to lock it away. Unfortunately, it has managed to escape but while in Mirkwood’s dungeons he kept calling your name.” Sharp grey eyes watched as fingers stiffened and dug at the end of the armrests of the rocker. “Did you, perchance, take anything from this creature?”

Bilbo cast a silent glance to Gandalf who merely raised a brow. 

Seeing this, Elrond crotched down to stare into Bilbo’s eyes as he asked the next question, “Where is it now?” Bilbo cast another glance at the Grey Wizard. “Is it back in the Shire? I can send my sons and Glorfindel to Bag End tonight if you give us your key.”

“I no longer have it,” Bilbo answered truthfully. His voice was slightly breathless in his worry over what that foul, evil creature might do now that he was free once more. 

Suddenly, the elf seized Bilbo by his shoulders and gripped them almost painfully tight, “Tell me where the ring is. Who has it now?”

“No need to worry, Master Elrond,” Gandalf commented, causing Elrond to whip his head to the side to glance at him. “It is safe for now.” Without paying any heed to the intimidating warrior elf, he proceeded to dig into his pockets for his pipe; he soon had it lighted and nigh melted into the couch as the smoke circles began to build about the area. 

Elrond released Bilbo’s shoulders and drew himself up again as his eyes fixed on the wizard with an occasional glance over at the terrified hobbit in the rocker. “It has been here all along, has it not? That evil thing has been in my home all this time.”

“It has and for that I am sorry,” Bilbo replied. “I had no idea what the ring was until Gandalf told me its tale last night.” 

Gandalf watched the elf pat the hobbit comfortingly on the shoulder. 

From out of the corner of his eye, Gandalf spotted movement coming from the doorway and sighed. Blowing another ring of smoke, he called, “Frodo, come out here. I know you’re listening, lad.”

There was a slight shuffle with the door before the younger hobbit emerged, his curls every which way and his eyes slightly red from his previous tears.

“How much have you heard?” the wizard asked as he watched for any hint of deception.

“Not much,” Frodo replied, looking almost like a child who had been caught with their hand on a sweet-roll before dessert.

“Frodo…” Gandalf warned as he waved the boy on.

“I heard something about a ring, an evil ring that Da somehow knew about,” he sheepishly confessed.

Elrond sighed and beckoned the younger hobbit closer and onto the couch. Once he was settled, the elf placed a firm hand on his shoulder and spoke lowly, “You are not to repeat what you have heard here, little one. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the young hobbit agreed. “But why? Does this have something to do with why the other elves are here?”

“It does,” Gandalf answered with a serious expression on his face as he leaned over and gently tilted Frodo’s face towards him with his free hand. “I am sure you will discover more in time but for now it is very important to not let any know of anything you have heard.”

xxxxoooxxxx

Three days later, on the morning of his sixtieth year of life, Frodo was awakened by the sound of rain hitting the large glass window of his room. Not able to see the sun through the thick grey and dull blue clouds, there was no way for him to judge the time he had woken but for his stomach rumbling for food. 

Figuring now was as good a time as any for first breakfast, Frodo made his way to the main kitchen where the cook didn’t blink twice before handing him three large jam filled pastries and a glass of milk before sending him on his way with a found pat on the head like the cook had done when he was a young boy. Then again, the cook still did that to Elrohir and Elladan on their birthday as well. 

Frodo decided to eat in the empty dining hall where he could see the streaks of lightening branching out for brief moments before the soft rumble of thunder echoed in Rivendell. It was so rare for a thunderstorm to occur in Rivendell and Frodo wanted to enjoy the electric air while it lasted.

“Sitting at the table again, little mole?” came the voice he had been attempting to ignore for five days. 

Frodo refused to even acknowledge Haldir’s question and continued to munch happily on a pastry as the elf gave an indignant huff and wandered away as another roll of thunder broke. Perhaps Frodo is slightly sympathetic to him now knowing the elf is in love with a maiden who loves another but he doesn’t really bother to respond back. Several minutes later, Frodo had finished his breakfast and was downing the last drop of milk when someone ruffled his hair. Placing his glass down, Frodo looked up to see Estel’s smirking face looking down. It was the first he had seen of his friend since that night. 

“Happy Birthday, Frodo.” Frodo couldn’t help but note the tone was somewhat distant as though his friend were thinking of something else entirely.

“Thank you, Estel,” Frodo replied as he studied the man’s gaze. “You seem happy…”

“I am,” Estel replied with a grin that almost split his face. “How can any man not be happy when he’s home and there is a dear friend’s birthday to celebrate?”

With a genuine laugh, Frodo wave the comment off as Estel took a seat beside him. “Is that all there is?” He does not know why he asks, but it simply comes from his mouth and he cannot stop it. He wants to ask why not him? Why of all things, the man’s adopted sister? Still elves in their long years have probably seen stranger pairings.

Estel gave a deep belly chuckle and whispered, “I cannot hide anything from you, can I?”

“You never could.” Frodo couldn’t help but note the way the human was glowing with happiness. 

“Well, my friend, you are correct. I have fallen in love.” Estel’s grey eyes were actually dancing with happiness. The human leaned in to continue his tale in a soft whisper, “About three years ago, I met the most beautiful female in all of Middle Earth while tracking a group of orcs that had raided the Shire. I followed them to Lorien where they had almost taken an axe to the most beautiful maiden I had ever seen.”

“You saved her life?” Frodo asked, part of him ever the romantic despite the slight ache of jealousy in his heart.

“I did,” Estel confirmed. Frodo must have let some emotion slip past the face of simple friendship because Estel simply pets his shoulder with a wide teasing smile as he promises, “Fear not, my friend, one day you will find love as well.”

Frodo almost laughs at the shear irony but holds it in and nods as he takes his plates back to the kitchen. Estel follows him at his side like when the pair were children and as soon as they are out of earshot of others, the man says, “The hobbits in the Shire have been asking after you, especially Samwise.”

“Samwise?” Frodo repeats as he struggles to place name with face. He suddenly recalls the bulky blond haired hobbit that brought him apples and gave him a carved necklace in parting. How could he have forgotten him? “How is he?”

Estel just gives another teasing smile which leaves Frodo confused. Then the hobbit is distracted by the beam of sun on his cheek. At some point in their conversation, the storm had started to clear and the sun was breaking through the dark clouds and Frodo suddenly thinks of making second breakfast for his Da in their own little kitchen as a birthday present. He’s probably not awake as he’s not the librarian on mid-weekdays and tends to sleep in.

“Frodo?” Estel calls and the hobbit is suddenly reminded of his friend and has found he’s been moving up the stairs without a word.

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking of something,” Frodo apologizes.

“In that case, perhaps I will see you later,” Estel states, “Elrohir and Elladan need help on mid-day patrol. I shall be back before dinner.” With a wave, the man is off towards his own rooms.

With an answering farewell, Frodo immediately returns to their small suite and checks on his Da who is still sleeping and sets to work in the kitchen when Grandfather Gandalf walks in with a finger to his lips. With a cheeky grin, the wizard rolls up his own sleeves, washes his hands, and starts to knead the dough for the sweet bread as Frodo prepares the muffins. Once those are in the oven, Frodo turns to help the wizard. There is no time for making icing but they glaze the small balls with honey and set them under the muffin rack. 

Da wakes up when the muffins are finished and the sweet breads are nearly done. “What is this heavenly aroma I smell this morning?”

“Happy Birthday, Da!” Frodo says as he happily runs to hug Bilbo as Grandfather chuckles in the background. 

“And to you too, my boy!” the elder hobbit laughs in happiness as he returns the hug around his waist. “To think, sixty years ago I was screaming in pain around this time as your curly head slipped between my legs.”

A blush took over Frodo’s face but he brushed it aside and went to retrieve the sweet breads as the two older occupants of the room embraced and then everyone sat down to eat in appreciative silence. 

“Mmmm, excellent,” Gandalf exclaimed. “Not even elven pastries compare to hobbit food. So what else shall we do today to celebrate such important birthdays?”

Da waved the suggestion away. “No fuss, please Gandalf.”

“I was thinking only of some fireworks…” Grandfather replied with a knowing smirk as they watched Da’s face light up with happiness.

“I do so love fireworks!”

“Would Uncle Elrond approve?” Frodo couldn’t help but ask as the last time Grandfather had set off fireworks, one of the trees at the gate caught fire. Well at least it didn’t spread…

“I’ll light them further back from the gate, my lad; do not fear.”

Frodo simply shook his head and continued eating. 

Hours later, as the whole of Rivendell and their visitors were enjoying the display of fireworks with much laughter and bags of flour at the ready three more visitors would come from the forest escorted by the patrolling Glorfindel just as Gandalf lit the special dragon firework. 

To Be Continued…

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	9. The Dark Rider

THE DARK RIDER

Despite the large, ominous clouds and mist of the previous day, the morning of the twelfth of September in the Shire was filled with beautiful sunshine. It was a market day as well so the farmer hobbits from the Blue Mountains to Bree were there on the little dirt roads carrying their autumn harvest to sell and barter for. Oh, just the smell of it was enough to set one’s stomach to rumble even if filled to excess. There was Mistress Smallfoot’s prized apple pies wafting and Mister Hayward’s prized diced autumn pears and bacon on trays. 

When Samwise had been a wee lad, he’d loved sneaking a bacon piece there or two when the hobbit’s back was turned. As an adult, he happily paid honorably for a bowlful of the treat from his bi-weekly earnings. He’d been at the stall, happily taking his first bite of what would be his first breakfast when there was a sharp thump upon his back that almost caused him to drop his food. 

With a glare, the blond hobbit turned to see Peregrin Took behind him. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Sam,” Mister Peregrin claimed with a smile that said the meeting was anything but accidental. His beautiful golden waistcoat had splatters of red mud here and there as did the knee caps of his nicely tailored brown pants. So early in the morning and he’d been up to mischief already! 

“Oh, yes. What a happy occurrence on such a beautiful morning like this,” Meriadoc Brandybuck added from his side. Sam didn’t need to look to see that Mister Merry was probably in similarly disarray. 

“Indeed it is,” Sam said as he played along and held his bowl protectively to himself. It was so rare that he was able to afford a treat and he would not allow those two gentle hobbits who never seemed to act their age to spoil it. “Now, if you will excuse me…”

Mister Meriadoc blocked his path and Sam was suddenly cornered. “Sam, we were wondering if you could help us.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders as much as possible considering the container in his hands. “If it’s mischief you’re up to, I want no part in it!”

“No mischief, Dear Sam, but we were hoping you could clear something up for us.” Oh dear. If it was to settle a bet between these two, Sam might have just found himself inside an orc nest of trouble. The last time the two cousins had made a bet that needed settling, they had gone to their distant cousin, Mister Fatty. Well… at least he had been quite pleasantly plumb back then before the nerves made the poor gentle hobbit loose all his nice weight. Sam didn’t quite know the details of that disagreement but it certainly made all in the Shire realize there was no good to be had in coming in between the two cousins.

Some of the other patrons of market were starting to take notice and Sam began to sweat as he felt the weight of their eyes on him. “I… I have no time for your games, young masters. There is work to be done today. So now, will you kindly leave me to break my fast?”

“But, my dear gardener, it is precisely your knowledge of your craft for which we need you,” Mister Meriadoc swore as he leaned forward to whisper the last bit into Sam’s ear.

Now Samwise was confused. What could the terrible two be up to that would somehow involve gardening? His mind wondered over the possibilities and could not find place where his skills would be needed. He did not know what made him agree- curiosity or boredom- but he suddenly opened his mouth and said he would help the two terrors if they gave him a few minutes to finish his first breakfast and it would take no more than an hour. (After all, he did have to turn the soil in the rose gardens of the Thrain later that day.)

Really, Sam should have known the two had no concept of time as the two had never had to work a day in their life being hobbits of such grand and wealthy families. Sam himself was only paying attention to where he placed his footing as the two led him deeper into the forest.

Over an hour (in fact three hours) later, Sam was still trudging along on the debris-covered, barely noticeable path with the two as they hopped this way and that. “Is it much farther?” Sam asked for the third time. While his poor legs and feet were used to the rich soil of the Shire with all its hills and rocks, they had begun to ache as they worked in overtime to keep up with the other two. 

“A little bit more,” Mister Peregrin promised for the third time.

Sam groaned, giving a glance behind him as he contemplated turning back on his own. They had to be only a good kilometer from Bree now! However, all ideas of returning alone were done away with when he considered not only getting lost on the way back but also the creatures that inhabited this wood. He remembered the wild boar that had emerged from this wood when he’ been in his tweens and gored a poor tiny hobbit lad who didn’t know not to attempt to pet it like it was one of Mistress Cotton’s prized hogs.

“Ah, here we are!” shouted Mister Peregrin as he bound over a log and stooped low, leaving only curly dark blond hair peaking over the wood. Of course, Mister Merry would follow as he always did and soon joined his cousin leaving poor Sam to scramble awkwardly over the log using muscles he didn’t know he could use. He landed quite gracefully considering in the dirt on the opposite side and took a place at the two cousin’s shoulders. 

Sam reared back when he got a proper look at the sight of twenty clustered golden-brown mushrooms with a dark stem beneath a large oak tree that could have been at the base the size of his family’s kitchen. Surely the lads wouldn’t…

“You see Mister Samwise, we found this bunch of mushrooms out here this morning and we be wondering if they were okay to eat,” Mister Peregrin declared.

“Surely not!” Samwise cried, completely baffled how two lads who wandered the hills and forest of the Shire had no idea what kind of mushrooms these were! “Those be autumn skullcaps- highly poisonous and deadly.”

“Oh…” Mister Meriadoc said with a pout.

“Well there goes my morning plans,” Mister Peregrin whined as he childishly plucked one of the mushrooms and tossed it across the forest as far as he could while Samwise shook his head in disbelief. Tooks and Brandybucks were always a strange lot but surely they were not as foolhardy as they seemed.

“This was not all you wished to show me was it?” Sam asked, wringing his hands to keep from grabbing and shaking them. Likely this little adventure would mean he would forfeit a full day’s pay unless the Thrain decided to pay him for his services of preventing the two from poisoning themselves.

Two sets of eyes blinked at him owlishly in answer and Sam sighed again in frustration. If this was their only question, could they not have brought one of the mushrooms with them? 

“Well I suppose we’ll be heading back then…” Sam said, standing to full height and dusting himself off as he shook his head. When he turned around to climb back over the log, he was almost smacked by a herd of deer running at full gallop over the log and fell back on Mister Peregrin’s lap in shock. 

None of the three hobbits moved. Only moments later, mice and rabbits were scurrying in the same direction. Sam cried in terror as a mouse and rat scurried over his ankles. Nasty creatures those were, often the cause of swollen bites in the middle of the night to many a poor hobbit. A mother fox and cubs trailed behind looking quite nervous and too agitated to be the cause of the stampede. The hobbits held their breath as the last of the creatures disappeared and then the forest was silent. No birds chirped, no insects hummed and buzzed. Just utter silence. 

It was Mister Pippin who first broke the eerie silence with a simple question. “What do you suppose that was?” 

“I don’t know but they were heading northeast,” Mister Merry stated as he first came to his feet and peered slowly around. Sam was surprised to note the seriousness that settled on the elder cousin’s face as he scanned the area with sharp hazel eyes. For several minutes, there again was no talking as the Brandybuck surveyed the area from their position. “I do not see anything. Remain here while I see if I can get a better look.” Without waiting for a word, the young gentle-hobbit began to scale the tree with agility like an elf in a fairy tale until he disappeared into the dark mass of limbs. 

Realizing he was still laying on Mister Peregrin’s lap, Sam eased himself off as they waited and pressed his back against the bark, ignoring the mushrooms that were making his sitting place awkward. Finally, Mister Meriadoc descended from the tree. “I saw nothing...”

“Alright then,” Mister Peregrin said, suddenly just as chipper and mischievous as before as though nothing unusual had occurred. “What shall we three do for the rest of today then? Shall we see if we can follow the animals to wherever they are going?”

“I think not!” Sam cried. Small adventures were all well and good for a Took and Brandybuck but Sam was content with simple tales of adventure read from a nice safe book or told by his gaffer back home. He’d already been dragged into the forest simply to identify poisonous mushrooms and now the two wanted to go trail some animals deeper in the woods to possibly the edge of the forest? 

“I think Sam’s right, Pip. ‘Sides Mum said she might bake a peach pie tonight if we get home ‘afore dark.”

The change in Mister Peregrin took hold instantly and the younger cousin was bounding towards the Shire in no time. The trio made it home just as the sun began its decent but still there was no sound beyond those of their fellow hobbits- no chirping of crickets or hooting of nocturnal birds to disturb the silence and a feeling of dread settled in each one of their stomachs as they made their way home. Yet, despite the eerie silence, the hobbits of the Shire were smiling and merry as they took in the last harvest of the day or did their last minute chores so Sam shook the feeling away and continued forward.

Eventually the trio split up, the two cousins going one way and Sam going another without a simple word. Sam gave a few friendly waves of greeting to his curious neighbors who eyed him up and down as he walked back to his family home. Their murmuring had him thinking that word of his little adventure had gotten out. 

His gaffer was resting on the old bench outside their hobbit hole, eyes closed as he enjoyed the pipe in his mouth and his head thrown back. Reluctant to disturb him, Sam opened their little gate and walked the few steps to the door as quietly as he could. “Back from your adventure, my boy?” his gaffer asked before Sam could reach for the door handle.

“Uh… yes, Gaffer,” Samwise replied, turning to see his father’s light blue eyes fixed upon him with disapproval. 

The older hobbit beckoned him to sit beside him and Sam did so without protest, wringing his hands in nervousness like he was a youngling again and staring at the ground as he awaited him scolding. 

His gaffer blew another smoke circle before taking his pipe temporarily out of his mouth to regard his child. “Those Tooks and Brandybucks are a strange lot to be sure, my lad. Don’t you be allowing those two boys to lead you astray. Why just remember the Baggins! All a very respectable lot until their last son married that Took and produced the Unnatural. Why, I remember my father telling me of old Bilbo. The two were friends once, you see, and for quite a long time no one knew that he was also a she. Bilbo was quite a respectable for a time though it were strange he never seemed interested in the fairer sex…”

Samwise instantly recalled Frodo Baggins, the hobbit who had visited several years ago. He’d been sunshine, beauty, and strength all wrapped into one. It was one of the few times Sam had been tempted by his own sex but he’d held himself back because he’d obviously been spoken for at the time by the man, Estel. He hadn’t seen the fair hobbit since that single visit though he’d seen Estel, or Strider as the people nicknamed him, several times since he joined the rangers.

Sam was called back from his thoughts on those remarkably blue eyes of Frodo’s when something his father said caught his ears. “…Then his Took side took his adventuring with dwarves and wizards to who-knows-where and he came back a she with a babe in his belly.” His Gaffer clucked his tongue in displeasure at the thought. “His strange ways made our neighbors drive him out of the Shire for fear he could contaminate the rest of us.”

“But… surely, you don’t believe such a ridiculous story, Gaffer. A hobbit lad, even one of two sexes, could never birth a babe.”

“I was there, my boy,” his Gaffer protested. “I was a young hobbit lad, me-self. I saw that hobbit’s stomach rounding with something that weren’t food when my father brought me over to help him and Bilbo with the garden of Bag End.” The elder hobbit caught his still disbelieving expression and waved it off. “My point is those Tooks and Brandybucks are a strange lot and that associating with ‘em will not do you any good. You’re a full-grown hobbit now, my lad. It’s time you think of settling down with a family of your own.” With a gentle, playful poke of his father’s elbow in Sam’s side, the older hobbit continued, “Maybe with that Cotton lass you always gaze at.”

Sam blushed as he thought of Rosie Cotton. She was a sweet and pretty lass with a crown of gorgeous strawberry-blonde curls on her head and feet and the tiniest waist he’d ever seen. They had played together as children but had gone different ways as they grew older. Yet, every party he would try to gather up the courage to ask he for a dance or even just to talk to her but his palms would suddenly get sweaty and his tongue snatched from his mouth. Yes, if there were a lass he would want to settle down with in the Shire, it would be Rosie.

“Now, run along lad and get dinner started. I think I’ll remain out here a bit,” his Gaffer ordered as he went back to closing his eyes and enjoying his pipe. Sam could not blame him. It was September after all and who knew when the nice nights would end this year. So Sam cleaned himself up and then set to work.

It took an hour or two to roast the small chicken to perfection, but at last dinner was done except for the pot of tea upon the stove. Sam set out half a loaf of bread and butter on the table with the chicken as he waited for the pot to whistle. Finally, there was a whistle and Sam went outside to call his father in for dinner. 

His father wasn’t sitting on the bench as he had earlier; instead he was at the gate with a dark, large rider on an equally large horse at the gate. There was something about them, whether it be the horse’s red eyes or the darkness of the figure, that had Sam’s stomach trembling as it leaned down towards his startled father, the corner of its slippery black hood nearly touching his father’s skin and hissed, “Baggins.” Sam watched as his father backed up one step before pointing a shaky finger towards the empty Bag End. With a screech shriller than a barn owl but just as frightening, it spurred towards the large, empty hobbit hole.

As soon as it disappeared from sight, his father let go of the broom he’d been holding protectively in front of him and ushered him inside, closing the door and latch faster than Sam had ever seen him. As soon as that was taken care of, the older hobbit leaned against the door, huffing in fear and clutching his chest. 

“What was that?” Sam asked as his father’s breathing finally evened out.

“Something that ain’t any of our business, my lad,” his father replied as he made his way over to the table and sat down heavily in the chair.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone of this?” Sam pressed, worried of the strange rider and what it might do when it finds the home abandoned.

“No. We set the creature on its way and that is the end of it,” his Gaffer barked as he shoved a slice of bread in his mouth without any of the nice butter on the table. It wasn’t often that Hamfast Gamgee forgot his manners so that little action let Sam know how much the encounter had rattled him. “Now get the kettle, lad,” his Gaffer reminded him when his thoughts caused him to ignore the shrill whistle.

Sam fetched the tea leaves and cups before taking the boiling water off the stove and pouring the tea in, waiting a moment before giving his father his cup. Still, instead of taking a seat and going about eating he remained standing, hands over his own cup on the counter as he sat gazing into the tea leaves. His mother always said one could read their future in tea leaves and had made a point of teaching him how every time his father was out attending to the gentle-hobbit’s gardens. (His father had never accepted that little activity as anything but nonsense.) 

“Are you coming to the table?” his father asked gruffly as the sounds of knife against plate echoed in the small room. 

“Yes,” Sam replied before blowing slightly on his cup and downing the hot tea as fast as he could. Ignoring the pain in his throat, he looked at the design created in fascination. Usually there were several clumps of tea leaves in a mug to tell different things. The only design in the cup was a single ring of tea leaves that Sam had never seen before. Before his father could ask again, he poured some more hot water in his cup and sat down, eating his dinner quietly as he made up his mind as to what had to be done. 

When his father retired to his room for the night, Sam began his plan. Packing up everything he thought he would need for a day’s journey in a small bag, he crept out of his home quietly leaving only a note on his bed as he ran as fast as he could to Tuckbourough and Buckland, the home of Mister Meriadoc. The hobbit hole of the Brandybucks was fairly large and, having not been to the hole since he was a child, he didn’t quite remember which window belonged to whom. 

Thinking it to be the middle window, he threw one small rock against the pane and was relieved when Merry’s blond head emerged in the window with a look of curiosity at the sight of him. Beckoning him outside, he was surprised to see Mister Peregrin also emerge with his cousin but then the two cousins might be inseparable even in sleep. 

“Mighty strange for you to call on us in the night,” Merry commented as he yawned and scratched at some place on his night robe. 

“I need your help to get to the Ranger Quarters in Bree,” Sam said as adjusted the weight of his bag on his back. 

“Can’t it wait ‘til morning?” Pippin asked as he rubbed the sleep at his eyes.

Sam shook his head, determined. “No, I need to speak to Mister Estel now.”

“It’s dark… it will be very hard to find the path right now…”

“By then, something may have happened and I really need to speak to Mister Estel now.”

Both cousins looked at each other and shrugged. After the two got dressed, Merry went to go fetch the ponies while Pippin packed for the journey. Bags and bags of food later (really did they need that much?), the three were ready and leading their ponies to the forest. Just as the trio broke the tree line, Pippin leaned over in his saddle and asked, “So what exactly is this about Sam?” 

“There’s a stranger at Bag End.”

“Oh?” Pippin said, fully awake and interested as he tossed a look over his shoulder towards where Bag End stood. “One of the dwarfs again?”

“No, this was one of the Big People and it wasn’t the wizard. Whatever it was, it gave me an eerie feeling,” Sam whispered as he looked cautiously about the trees for any sign that something else might be following him.

“So why aren’t we there, watching whatever it is instead of going to Bree?” Pippin whined loudly, only to be hushed by Merry who was also scanning the forest on edge.

“I don’t think that would be rather safe, Mister Peregrin.” 

The trio made it to Bree as dawn broke and asked the human baker for directions to the Ranger Quarters. Sam was sure they must look a pretty strange sight with twigs and scratches everywhere from their ride as the man gave them a look like they were pitiful children (which usually were what Big People saw them as) and simply directed towards the center of town. 

“Who are you looking for?” the elderly human in ranger green asked the trio when they asked for Estel and explained the situation. Sam stepped out of the way of a hurrying ranger, almost knocking into Pip, who was chewing rudely on a piece of bread he’d packed away for the journey. 

“Mister Estel,” Sam repeated. When he received a blank look, he clarified, “He also goes by Strider.”

“Oh, yes, Aragorn. I’m afraid the lad’s not here at the moment,” the elder ranger replied. “He went to Rivendell yesterday with Gandalf the Grey.”

“Well, is there any way to get a message to him?” Mister Merry asked after throwing an amused look at Pip who had moved onto an apple. 

“‘Fraid not,” the elder ranger stated as he handed something to a ranger coming in. “Rivendell elves don’t usually like us rangers on their borders. We steer clear but Aragorn is an exception, you see. Has a pretty Elf Maiden’s hand, I hear.” Elf Maid? Surely he was mistaken? “But I will send some of my people to look into that stranger in the Shire.” The way the ranger said ‘stranger in the Shire’ gave Sam the impression he’d often been called to investigate such claims before and they’d been nothing.

“Very well, Sir. Thank you for your time,” Merry said before anyone else could respond and led his munching cousin out by the wrist with Sam trailing in a daze. 

For a moment, the trio simply stood outside Ranger Quarters before Pippin said, “Well I guess that’s that then.” Pippin then began to walk towards their ponies before Sam stopped him.

“Surely that can’t be all we can do?” Sam asked. He had thought they would be able to accomplish something… it wasn’t sitting right with him to quit now. 

“You’re right, Sam,” Merry agreed, walking over to undo the ponies reigns and leading them behind him. “There should be an inn nearby. We’ll rest today and then we’ll set out for Rivendell first thing tomorrow.”

“You can’t be serious, Merry,” Pippin exclaimed with his eyes wide. “You just can’t!”

“Did you notice the forest yesterday, Pip? It was silent both during the day and at night. We’ve been in that forest near every day; when was it ever so still? It doesn’t sit right with me.” Merry said as he handed them their reigns before mounting his own ride. “Plus, we will finally be able to meet the elves.”

With a sigh, Pippin simply said, “We’re going to need more food.” The hobbit mournfully held up an empty sack and Sam was bewildered with where exactly all the food had gone.

“And a map,” Sam added, knowing neither cousin could have journeyed beyond Bree before. 

Nine days later the hobbits finally reached the gates of Rivendell just as the sun began to set and were met with the most fearsome sight of a terrifying winged creature darting towards them, forcing them to throw themselves from their ponies, before climbing upwards and exploding into a display of amazing fireworks. When Sam finally regained his breath from his fall and the shock, he turned to find several pairs of equally surprised eyes staring back at him- including one pair of the most remarkable blue…

To Be CONTINUED…

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I had to figure out how to add all hobbits believably.


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